


CODA

by crownlessk_ing



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - 80's, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Disabled Character, Cello, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Musicians, Period-Typical Homophobia, Recovery, Self-Discovery, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, like a lot of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 77,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessk_ing/pseuds/crownlessk_ing
Summary: France, 1986.A lot of things had changed in ten years. The last time he was in Paris, Erwin had been young, in love, and the country’s most acclaimed cellist, his future so bright ahead of him that it was easy to pretend.Now, he was a broken man, hollow and resigned to drown under the weight of his shattered pieces. His past was all that lay in front of him, and he had been a fool to believe he could resume his life where he’d left it. For one, his salvation had been torn from him, for he would never be able to hold a cello in his hands ever again.Unless there was another empty soul who needed it just as much as he did.





	1. CODA - chapter i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people!
> 
> Welcome to Coda! This AU has to be the biggest work I ever tackled on, something close enough to my heart that I thought it deserved its own, long - very long - story.  
> This is France, this is the 80's, this is about cello. And mental health issues, mental illnesses, mental breakdowns, half-assed recoveries, you name it. Erwin is a mess. Levi is a mess. Together, they make for the most beautiful mess you can fathom - not that it's anything new to any of you. Also, did I mention that Erwin is a mess?
> 
> As usual, big thanks to my beta reader @[Melody_Of_The_River](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Of_The_River/pseuds/Melody_Of_The_River) for putting up with me!
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy the ride~
> 
> (additional tags/warnings in the end notes)

 

 

   _I remember when my father first explained it to me, a heavy book in my small hands, finger pointing at the four letters: coda. His exact words, the sound of his voice, long lost. “A coda? It is the conclusion to a music piece. It is what comes after the ending point, just like what an epilogue is to a story, it adds to what is already over. It is usually written using similar structures as the rest, to keep a sense of balance and to close the piece in on itself. It is here to enhance the ending, to make it resonate deeper, so you can look back on the piece as a whole and relive it through its final moments. Over and over again._

  _The end of the end.”_

\- - -

 

_Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman, Kirstein, Bott, Lenz, Braun, Hoover, Leonhart, Springer, Blouse._

     A detonation. Loud, piercing at his ear-drums and leaving him with nothing but the whistle of muffled screams. His own. Of those around him. The screams of hundreds, the screams of the Earth. Sharp and brutal.

     Gunpowder, filling his lungs like glass shards, flooding his core. Salt and dust, viscous in his mouth, dry, muddied with blood and saliva down his throat. More salt. More blood.

     _Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman, Kirstein, Bott, Lenz, Braun, Hoover, Leonhart, Springer, Blouse._

 No words escaped his mouth, only a sputter of thick dust, crimson and dripping. He called into the void, and it responded with the echo of his own plea. No sounds in his ears, but the whistle – the whistle, again, and again.

     The reverberation. The ringing. The pain, white and sharp. Strikes of thunder behind his heavy lids scratching into his bloodshot eyes. Pain, more pain. His right side. His right arm. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. His hand. His wrist. His elbow. They hurt, but he could not _feel_ them. Only warmth, spreading along his right flank, smearing dark and sticky.

     _Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman, Kirstein, Bott, Lenz, Braun, Hoover, Leonhart, Springer, Blouse._

     Again. And again. He didn’t remember what the syllables meant, but he clung to them, for, somehow, there was nothing else to grasp. His right hand, unable to close around tangible matter. His right hand. Gone.

     _Gone_.

     The blinding light beneath his eyelids. A cloth of mist, red, shrouding his vision. The sun, burning, scorching his flesh.

     His jackhammer heart throbbing in his chest, his clogged throat, his temples, and his wrists – no, wrist – stung. His left wrist and his right shoulder – arteries bleeding into dust.

     A sense of despair, a sense of remorse, bursting into his rattling bones, boiling all over.

     He was going to die.

     A soft brush of delicate fingertips at his shiny forehead, brushing gold back, smearing red across.

 “It’s alright. You're alright, and I've got you. Always. Forever. You're alright, Erwin.”

     _Marie_. Everything stopped. No more pain. No more noise. No more thick, salt water. No more pulse.

 “You need to stop worrying so much, my love. This is not your fault. This is not your fault.”

     _Marie. Marie. Marie._ But no sound escaped. He looked down to find his own body tossed lifeless on the ground and bathed in red. His own body, dismantled, mutilated, twisted. Wrong. Something was missing. _Something was missing_.

 “Don't look honey. Hey, love. Look at me instead.”

     He did. His eyes travelled up, her face right there, bright, filled with sunlight and tenderness. Glowing. With tears. He blinked. No more light. Only shadows and ugly distortion of her oh so beautiful features downwards, following the trails of the saline escaping her eyes.

 “Look what you've done to me. Erwin. This is you. This is all you. This is your fault. Everything, this is you. I thought you loved me. How could you do this? Look at me now, Erwin. This is what you did to me!”

     He strived to close his eyes, but they were never open to begin with, and the overexposed image of misery and wrath burnt his eyelids. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry, that he never meant to hurt her, that he–

 “This is your fault, Erwin. You did this to her. To me. To us.”

     His neck snapped backwards. His eyes opened, wide.

     _No. No. I... No, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._ No sound.

 “Look at what you did to me too.”

     He did look. Bones. Worms eaten, purple, bubonic flesh ripped out. Blue met red.

     A detonation. Again.

     _Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman, Kirstein, Bott, Lenz, Braun, Hoover, Leonhart, Springer, Blouse._

  _Marie. Father._

     Over and over again.

     The end of the end.

 

    He woke up with a start, body hunched forwards, crumbling on itself. His lungs, crushed under his ribs, his knees, his arms – no, his arm – strived to swallow the stale air of the surrounding darkness.

     Sunlight was parching at his shielded eyelids, time stretching for his muscles to stop burning under the stress, for his heaving to break down into soundless sobs, for colours and blood to course down his knuckles again and for his fingernails to excavate from the red engravings on his skin.

     The phone was ringing. Again.

     His head rose, forehead beading cold sweat onto his knees. He cursed at the migraine assaulting his skull, hazy syllables pleading for the ringing to cease.

     There was the muffled robotic tone of his voicemail which sputtered words in a language he couldn't quite fathom. Another beeping sound. Another muffled voice. Deep and masculine this time. Mike's.

     Erwin breathed out heavily, and his senses rushed back at once at the familiar sound. He straightened his back and jumped out of his sweat-drenched sheets, struggled for balance, and hobbled long strides to the corridor.

“... but maybe me waiting another hour wasn't enough, ha. You're becoming such an old man, sleeping in so late. Well, I'm off to work now, so, let's catch up sometime tonight? Hope you're good and that you're getting loads of cakes and booze today. You deserve it, Cap. Anyway. Happy birthday again, and catch you soon! See ya!”

     Another beep, then silence. Erwin sighed, closing his eyes, the rows of his eyelashes wet against one another. His left hand hovering still above the receiver twitched. He brought it to his face, the pads of his fingers sinking deep into his skin and dragging it down to his scruffy chin. His eyelids opened again, heavy. There was dried blood under his fingernails. He let out yet another sigh and stumbled to the bathroom.

     _Yes, happy birthday, Erwin._

 He stepped into the kitchen moments later, eyes squinted at the vivid sunrays filtering through the squared windows, which played a silent symphony for the thousands of dust specks dancing languidly under the spotlights. Erwin's left hand had been cleaned thoroughly, the scent of soap lingering strongly under the one of over-ripe vegetables and moldy dishes overflowing from the sink, and the red trails his fingernails had painted on his right shoulder, had been patted with alcohol and hidden away in shame under a heavy jumper.

     He scanned the room, unenthusiastic, hoping to blink the sunlight away. He moved into the shadows instead and faced the stained wooden counter. He opened and closed and opened again the cabinets, mostly empty except for packs and cans of long expired goods. Then, he reached for the coffee pot where stagnated what was worth less than half a cup at the bottom; a brew from two – maybe three – days ago. The crumpled aluminium pack of grounds laying next to it reminded him that he ran out.

     Erwin waddled around and opened the fridge only to find exactly what he had expected: plates of leftovers from god knew how long, covered in gossamer moss, and empty bottles. He closed it, and his eyes wandered next to it, until they fell on a wooden crate filled with five bottles of Château Haut Brion Bordeaux, 1961. He considered them for longer than he should have, drawn in like a magnet, until he decided with a shake of his head, that his migraine was already bad enough to succumb to the temptation of wine first thing in the morning.

     In the end, he settled for the half cup of stale coffee reheated in a limestones lined pan. He sat at the windowsill, the marble cold and the glass painted with speckles of dried condensation. He looked down, eyes lazy on the terrace of the café across the street, faceless crowd chirping in the last sunny days before autumn would eventually hit with merciless showers and icy winds. Erwin sipped his coffee, wincing at the taste – thankfully, it took him less than three gulps to down the mug. He watched the scene below him for a little longer, until it faded away beneath puffs of white smoke, and left his empty mug sit lone on the sill.

     He walked down the corridor again, and almost let the phone receiver flash to blind eyes with unread voicemails. He halted before it, opened the drawer of the small phone table to pull out a pack of Gauloises. Erwin _didn't_ smoke, but always kept an emergency pack hidden around, just in case. He shook it slightly and flipped it open, and given how little there were left, the current emergency had been more severe than he realised.

     He fished one out between his teeth before he could start thinking about it too much, and let the pack fall next to the receiver. He readjusted the cigarette in his mouth, picked up a lighter and drew on his cigarette it until the warm smoke travelled down his tongue and to his lungs. He savoured the fog of nicotine and sour ashes and closed his eyes, shuddering slightly at the thick and coal-like taste in his mouth.

     His lids opened, low, to focus his eyes on the red flashes of the phone receiver. He pressed on it.

     - Message received October 11th, 3:45pm, from the Palais Garnier, notifying that the first orchestral repetition for the next ballet would be held next Friday at 10 in the morning. He was welcome to attend if he wanted.

     - Message received, October 11th, 3:56pm, from the Palais Garnier, amending the previous message – one in the afternoon, not ten. Also, telling him that Conductor Zackely expected him to attend, whether he wanted to or not.

     - Message received, October 13th, 9:00am, from a man introducing himself as Rod Reiss, informing him with a thick German accent that he got Erwin’s contact from _the prestigious_ conductor Zackley and that he sought to discuss his methods and rates, for his daughter.

     - Message received, October 14th, 12:04am, from Hange, wishing him a happy birthday and mocking him for being asleep so early. Also, offering to hang out sometime during the day; an invitation to Café Pouchkine, only if he promised to be reasonable enough not to make her go bankrupt over a glass of wine and a few delicacies.

     - Message received, October 14th, 10:01am, from Mike. Erwin listened to it again, its content already forgotten in the midst of his sleepiness and the thunder of his nightmare. As he did, a smile grew on his lips and threatened to make his cigarette slip away.

     He took another drag from it, wondering where the past few days went. Morpheus had stolen them from him, as far as he could remember, and he wouldn’t dare to count the hours of sleep he allowed himself. Probably a week's worth. He stomped the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray, eyelids fluttering from the nicotine filled smoke that floated above his head, and headed to the bathroom to brush the ashes away from his taste buds and palate.

     Standing there, he contemplated putting some order back on his face; shaving the five days shadow smooth again, scrubbing the grease away from his dishevelled hair, and, by some miracle, bleaching the purple, swollen bags beneath his eyes. He huffed at the latter, and decided that, as he wouldn't be able to achieve it, it wasn't worth trying to fix the rest. He turned away from the ghastly figure facing him in the mirror, and walked to the living room, feet pattering ticking sounds on the polished floorboards, and threw himself on the Chesterfield sofa, deep umber leather lustrous by years of service.

     He hissed when something stabbed at his spine, and fumbled to retrieve the book, pencil, and, spoon from beneath him. He laid down again, neck rested uncomfortably against the armrest, and watched the ceiling with empty eyes, musing over the cracks in the white paint. Today, he decided, it resembled a mountain range. Yesterday, from the other end of the sofa, it had been the hungry fangs of a hellhound. It was an improvement.

     He extended an arm towards the coffee table, aiming for the book he sat on moments ago, only to find himself reaching out to nothing, empty sleeve of grey wool dangling at the corners of his eyes. He strangled a short, coarse laugh, and rolled on his side, stretching out his left arm instead. He used to believe that, after four years, he would have stopped trying to use his right arm so often, but, he figured, some things can never quite be rewritten.

     He opened the book at the dented page that served as bookmark, and propped it on his chest to prevent the pages of the right side from curving inwards. He picked up his reading from where he had left it the previous day. He read a paragraph without much attention once. Twice. He tempted a third, and, after minutes of intense reflection as he clumsily turned the pages backwards to the first, he still couldn't remember who Elisabeth was, or why she was relevant in the story, he sighed and closed the book.

     Erwin inhaled deeply; his stomach weighted empty next to his air filled lungs. He threw a glance at the clock on the wall: ten fifty-eight. It was too early to call the Indian restaurant at the end of the street to order take-away. He stood up, hips and knees cracking, and went to retrieve the cigarette pack from where he had left it. Smoke would, at least, bring some consistency inside his stomach. He scuffed back into the living room, cigarette perched at his lips and smoke burning his eyes, and stopped before a towering set of shelves overflowing with cassette tapes, CDs and vinyls. He browsed through them, one by one. And again. He shrugged and gave up.

     Music was the only thing his hammering skull would tolerate, but not quite like this.

     He looked, almost dreadfully so, at the other side of the room. There laid a grand piano, once black and shiny, and now haunted by a veil of dust. He shook his head. Behind it, a collection of cellos, some deep umber, others worn out mat maple. He exhaled shortly through his nose in disapproval, but found himself walking towards them anyway. His fingertips grazed at the thick but loose strings, singing an out of tune, bland melody of plain picked notes. This, was the kind of music that would relieve his headache, and even, if he was hopeful enough, awake him from his colourless days-long slumber.

     Erwin let out a mirthless laugh at the absurd thought, and turned back to the piano. He wouldn’t dare to touch it. He, in fact, had not touched it in years. Piano was, however, the only instrument he could play still. The strident sounds of it never felt quite as satisfying as the rich vibrato of a cello, but it remained his only viable option. You learn to settle for the smallest offers when there isn't much else you can afford.

     Not that it made Erwin reconsider turning a deaf ear to the call of the instrument, touch-deprived and piling under gossamer and mindless clutter. Any other piano would do but this one. Furthermore, even if he deemed to sit down and make his fingers dance across the yellowing keys, the sounds would be near cacophonous, after years without use nor maintenance. Perhaps he deserved no better.

     Erwin snorted again. Hadn't he been awake for more than an hour, and already, he'd given himself enough self-depreciation to last him the whole day. As if he hadn't already served himself a month worth in the past two – or was it three? – days. A hollow smile lingered on his lips, as he walked to the window, opening it widely, taking his first breath of fresh air in far too long. The smells of gasoline and freshly baked bread swirled their way into his nostrils.

     All things considered, Erwin realised, he wasn't feeling as out of touch with reality today as he had lately, and the fact that he could simply laugh at his own misery told him that this episode was nearing its close. Yet another one; an endless loop, and its edges were wearing thinner and thinner.

    He raised his gaze over the red and slate Parisian rooftops that stretched up to a grey blur, and thought, not for the first time, that his shallow efforts to escape the ghosts that had been after him had been but fruitless. Setting off on the open sea had not been enough to stop them from hunting him down, for they had learnt how to swim. He had been a fool, truly, to believe he could evade them without breaking a sweat.

     For now, though, he would simply allow the outside breeze to finish chasing them away, until the next storm washed them ashore.

     And so, soon after the nearest bell tower rang the half past eleven, he dialed Hange to take upon to her invitation keenly. Perhaps it only had been was his sickly empty stomach acting more than his brain, but, nonetheless, he was ready to apprehend the outside world again. After deciding to meet at Café Pouchkine at one, Erwin found himself facing the mirror of his bathroom again, his lower face foamed white and a razor between his fingers. He shaved, his hand steady enough to avoid any major cuts; he then showered, washing the sweat of two nights worth of terror away from his skin; he ran cold water at his face until the swell of his under eyes reduced to something a bit less horrendous. After drying his hair, combing it neatly into place, and dressing in a not-so-wrinkly shirt and tweed suit jacket, he sealed the havoc of his mind behind closed doors and adjusted the mask over his face, the wholesome scent of fresh rosemary soap trailing gracefully behind him.

     He met with Hange a few tube stations later and she enthusiastically wished him a happy birthday as they made way into the restaurant. They sat near the windows, where the sunrays huddled on them like a warm coat. He listened to her yap about the brand new lighting system Palais Garnier just invested in while sipping of a glass of red wine, and he listened to her still, rave fervently about this new research on LED lights when their borscht was being served. When dessert came and she had been too confused by her own words, Erwin granted her, not without a roll of his eyes, to remind him that he looked many years older than thirty-seven. Erwin also allowed her, for the thousandth time, to insist that he visited the trauma victims support group that was held at the 17th arrondissement’s Red-Cross station every Wednesday evening. Erwin made the empty promise that he would consider, as he always did, and he did not miss the dubious glance she gave him at that.

 “It really helped Moblit, you know. I know it can sound intimidating at first, but he’s been doing so much better since he started going. Please, Erwin, if you’re not going to talk to him or Mike about it, then at least give this group talk a try, for your own sake.”

     Erwin nodded, tapping his fingers lightly on the satin woven tablecloth, flashes of his nightmare jostling behind his eyeballs. He shook them away with another nod, and assured that he would, once again, take her suggestion into consideration. She took the last sip of her espresso, her eyes squinted behind the thick frames of her glasses, and when she put her cup back down, simply sent him a warm smile glimmering with hope and sympathy. Then, she reached for a kraft enveloppe from her jacket and slipped it to Erwin’s side of the table: “Sorry, it’s not much, but I’ve been way too busy with that new toy at work that I forgot to get you a proper something.”

     Erwin smiled, no apologies needed; the intention was more than generous already. Inside the paper bag was a small enamel pin shaped like a cello, and Hange hastened to staple it to the lapel of his jacket, her face bright and proud.

     They left the restaurant after she paid the bills with a falsely dramatic gasp, and Erwin agreed to walk her back to Palais Garnier. Once there, Hange, eager to get back to her lights, was fast to bid Erwin goodbye, and he wandered around the building for a bit, exchanging snippets of conversations here and there with the familiar faces he met.

     Upon deciding he’d been given enough birthday wishes to make him ten years older than he actually was, he left the white stones of opera house to rejoin the warmth of the October sun. He threw a quick glance at his pocket watch; it was still early in the afternoon, and he wasn’t too keen to regain the shipwreck sinking in the confines of his apartment just yet.

     Thus, instead of walking the few steps to the underground station, he let his feet carry him on the way back to his neighbourhood. He walked down the lively streets and followed the rails tracks once he reached Saint Lazare train station. He kept walking up Rue de Rome until the landscape of shopfronts lining before him turned symphonical. He lifted his chin up.

     Each shop window was exhibiting the most delicately hand-crafted instruments, from violins to pianos, clarinets to oboes. Every few steps Erwin took, notes and melodies would ring in his ears, left and right, melding together in a discordant yet heartwarming tune.

     His pace slowed down until he was strolling. As the end of the street drew nearer, the idea of allowing himself a treat was taking too much brainspace to ignore. Hange had been right in assuming that he needed some kind of help, for his condition was not getting any merrier, but perhaps she had been wrong in the ways to revert it. It wasn’t talking, therapy, or a depressing support group and shared watery orange juice over stories of the battlefield that Erwin needed. It was music.

     He had not realised he stopped walking until he registered the muffled cello melody filtering behind the glass door of a shop across the street. He raised his eyes to it and they stopped at the Rameau grand piano behind the shopfront glass. Without another second of waver, Erwin crossed the street and pushed the door of the shop open - not called in by the piano as had he seen no less than a dozen in the past minute already, but rather, the clumsy yet endearing ringing of a bow against thick cello strings.

     Erwin stepped in; the scent of sap and varnish filled his nose, the sight of walls covered in every instrument his mind could fathom filled his eyes, and the melody of a cello playing, now clear, tickled at his core. There was a young man sat at the back of the shop, worn cello tucked between his legs, charcoal bangs fallen on his profile. The silhouette was wrapped in black from head to toes, making the paleness of his face stand out almost ghastly so. His lips were pinched together, head lowered to the bow that was travelling candidly on the strings. Erwin halted, unwilling to disturb the man in his endeavour, and rather, spectated the improvised concert, inconspicuous as a thief. The notes were imprecise, and Erwin couldn’t find it in the thousands of melodies stored in his brain which one was being played. The notes were flying all over the place, and Erwin’s lips stretched at the corners, engrossed in this blunt display of sincerity.

     The bow slipped a bit too roughly on the strings, echoing a fretful note against the four walls. It was followed by a clicking sound and an annoyed grunt. The bow twisted sharply in the man’s hand, rotating in the air with a whistle, and fell down his side. He shook his head, bangs flying away from his eyes and snapped his head to Erwin with a slight jump. Erwin heard him mutter some kind of curses before he raised his gaze, pausing briefly at Erwin's empty sleeve, and locked his steel eyes on Erwin’s. His brows furrowed on his low eyelids, cutting his pupils into small moon crescents. The message sent was clear: Erwin’s spying was anything but appreciated. His lingering smile withered away, replaced by a blush dusting his cheeks, caught red handed by the menacing stare.

     Erwin expected some words to leave the man’s lips, whether a generic salutation or a storm of wrath, but the silence remained thick between them, being cut over and over again by the sharp gaze piercing through Erwin. He cleared his throat, and blamed the words that escaped him on the singularity of the situation.

 “You should lower the endpin of your cello, the curve of the waist should fall right around your knees.”

     It was only when Erwin finished his sentence that he registered that the man had uttered “Hello” at his first words. What a great way to redeem himself, he thought, scolding himself for his unusual lack of worldliness.

 “Well, aren’t you a rude fellow? And I was trying to be polite, for once. Never doing that again.”

     Erwin felt warmth spread further on his cheeks.

 “My sincere apologies. Professional habit. I… I teach music, I was only aiming to give you some advice.”

“And pretentious, on top of that. I thought it was only because of your English accent, but no, you actually _are_ pretentious.”

     Erwin blinked, taken aback by such bluntless, his embarrassment rousing exponentially.

 “I apologise, again.” He was floundering to see a way out of the misunderstanding. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound impolite. It’s just…”

     He noticed the slight grin pulling at the man’s lips, openly entertained by his struggle. Erwin frowned, unable to read his temper.

 “I really enjoyed listening to you play,” he decided to settle on a compliment, hoping that it would be enough to buy his redemption.

     The man snorted loudly with a roll of his eyes, and stood up, balancing the cello at the edge of his stool. He was much shorter than Erwin had anticipated; it was no wonder why the instrument looked so disproportionate on him.

 “Obviously,” he stated deadpan, voice underlaid with satire. “Whatever. Did you want something or what?”

     Erwin’s brows knotted together for a second, until he remembered the proper reason he had walked into the shop.

“Oh, yes, actually. I was hoping to try out one of your piano. The Rameau you have in your shopfront, more specifically.”

“Hm, alright.” The man couldn’t possibly have sounded less interested. “Can’t help you with that, you’ll have to wait for the shop owner to get back. I’ll see where that idiot is at.”

     At that, he turned away and disappeared behind a sun bleached curtain at the back of the shop. Erwin simply stood there, dazed still by the intriguing encounter with the short, sullen cellist, quite unable to explain to himself why he was even here in the first place. _Oh, right_ , charmed by the cello notes; his ridiculously weak point.

     The curtain was pulled again by a blond, cheerful looking young man. The short shadow of darkness trailing behind looked even grimmer than before in comparison.

“Good afternoon sir, I’m Farlan, I run the place. Sorry, I was lost in paperwork. Incapable contractors and all.”

     Erwin nodded in acknowledgement, shaking the hand Farlan was reaching out with an awkward twist of his left arm.

“Erwin Smith, pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise. I hope my rude friend there didn’t hiss too much at you.”

     Erwin chuckled lightly, eyes falling on the man leaning onto the passageway behind them, who was sending a murderous stare at Farlan’s nape.

 “I believe I was the ruder of the two, so, no worries here.”

     Erwin heard a sharp “tch” huff between the short man’s lips, and Farlan looked at them both simultaneously.

“Anyway,” he turned back to Erwin, “that Rameau grand piano right? Beaubourg model, 1980, Renner mechanics and Kluge keyboard, second-hand, but I doubt it’d been used very much. I tinkered with it a bit, so it’s pretty much like new now. Still interested?”

“I am.”

     Farlan nodded and guided Erwin to the front of the shop. He listened to Farlan enumerate everything there was to know about the instrument, down to the very last technical detail, and almost feared the man would never stop talking. When he did, at last, Erwin let his fingers run lightly across the keys, smooth and shiny. He played a few tunes,testing out different speeds, styles, ranges. The keys felt a bit heavy yet the sounds that came out of it reverberated deeply through the whole room; it wasn’t quite as profuse as the ones he had gotten used to, either when he visited the opera house, or the vague memory he had of the one sitting lonely in his living room. But it would do, he decided. _Any_ piano would do, but the one he owned already.

     Actually, Erwin had made up his mind long before trying out the instrument.

  _Any other piano would do._

     He stopped abruptly to turn to Farlan.

 “Are you willing to make a trade?”

     The blond man nodded, and the next moment Erwin was being led to the backroom to discuss the details. As soon as Erwin told him the specifics of the deal, Farlan’s eyes lit up both with glee and confusion. Erwin was more than aware that his offer was worth way more than the piano Farlan would give him in exchange, and when Farlan tried to reason Erwin that he was losing thousands in the change, he simply nodded with a smile. It tore a moment of hesitation from Farlan, who started questioning Erwin further, now with suspicion.

     Eventually, they agreed to meet at Erwin’s a few days later to get a closer look at Erwin’s piano. As Erwin started fumbling with his organiser, the cramped room filled with the faint notes emanating from a cello. It was the same melody as earlier. Erwin froze for a moment, lips stretching upwards at the sound.

     He and Farlan stepped out of the backroom several minutes later, and as soon as they did, the short shadow pulled the bow away from the strings of his cello, now readjusted to the right size for his stance. Erwin sent him a contented glance.

 “Well, Monsieur Smith, it was a real pleasure to have you here today. We shall see each other again soon then, and in the meantime, if there is anything else I can do for you, please, let me know.”

“I believe that is all, Farlan. Thank you very much for your trouble.”

“Always a pleasure.”

     Farlan shook Erwin’s hand with both his own, bowing his head slightly with a bright smile. After excusing himself when the phone rang and mumbling something about those damn contractors, he disappeared behind the curtains of the backroom.

     Erwin turned his head back to the cellist, sat at his stool still, both his hands resting at his knees, his face as dark and uninviting as earlier. Erwin couldn’t help, given all circumstances, his unexpected high spirit to take over.

 “It will be easier on your arms and back,” he asserted, pointing to the now lowered endpin of the cello between the man’s legs. “That should help easing out the flow of your bow.”

     He squinted his eyes, almost suspicious at Erwin.

 “Alright.”

     Erwin bit his lower lip, the melody the man was performing minutes ago swirling in his head.

 “What?”

     Erwin almost left it at that, suddenly reminded that he had sworn to never get involved in anything that had to do with a cello ever again. But there was so much he wanted to say, and despite his irrational dread, he was quick to fall into his old habits.

 “If I may be so picky, and if you’ll allow me another bit of advice…” he started cautiously.

     The man hummed shortly, the ghost of a smirk perching at the edge of his lips.

 “You’ve already made the most awful first impression you could have, so really, go ahead, and actually make it a point that you’re an annoying, pompous know-it-all.”

     Erwin chuckled candidly at that, relieved that the cellist didn’t seem to hold any real grudge against him.

 “You should loosen your bow a little. One turn should do the trick.”

     The man sent him a dubious look, shifting his eyes to his bow, then to Erwin again, and shrugged.

 “If you say so.”

     Erwin had the feeling that he would take the advice despite his indifference; he had the first time, there were no reason for him not to do it again. Erwin fought the urge to open his mouth again, poise swelling in his chest. He’d been there before, he knew this would most certainly end badly. He was done, retired, and there was nothing more he could do about it.

     Thankfully, Farlan emerged from behind the curtain again, interrupting the silence, and thanked him again, bidding his farewells a second time. Erwin responded politely, and ventured a cordial goodbye to the cellist who ignored him boldly. Erwin smirked and left the shop, his head lighter than when he had entered.

     At last, he had finally mustered the bravery to tackle on a task he should have done years ago, and that in itself, he hoped, was the first step in the right direction. A few more days, and the remaining of his past mistakes would be out of his sight for good.

     Erwin returned to his apartment when the first colours of dusk began to taint the clear sky, hand full of grocery bags. He stopped before the front door and took a deep breath in; he remembered the state of the rooms behind it, thorny vines still blossoming under the gloom of his mind. He exhaled, pushing it open and stepping in, almost expecting something to jump at his throat, as ridiculous as the thought sounded in his head. Instead, he was simply greeted by a honest silence and a faint smell of cold tobacco. His shoulders dropped with a sigh.

     The tide was slowly retreating, lapping cold at his ankles. For now, it felt lulling, so much that he would only stand there, mesmerised by the flow, waiting for the next wave to hit. Erwin knew the tale by heart: he would, then, stumble at the powerful rolls, lose his balance and fall. The salt would once again fill his mouth, nostrils, down to his lungs, coating their walls with burning saline that he would attempt to cough out through nightmares, through red scratches on his right shoulder, through restless days and nights of sleep.

     He had stopped trying to look up the flicker of the lighthouse, and now, even if he did, the fog of darkening clouds hiding a storm wouldn’t allow him to. All it ever showed him was white, piercing flashes of light that spelled morse code. He had stared at it long enough to decipher its message fully, looping back around to the same names: Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman, Kirstein, Bott, Lenz, Braun, Hoover, Leonhart, Springer, Blouse. If at first it scorched through his retina, now it only made him shudder with guilt, for those were the only names he remembered; all the ones that came before blanked out of his memory.

     The clouds were lowering, creeping inside his mind, and he knew only one thing for certain: he was not doing any better and the path to recovery, if once looked like a gravel road hard to navigate, now, was a towering cliff, stark and covered in slimy moss. Therefore, instead of exerting himself through ways to climb it, he only took another step towards the sea, and it could be that the day his feet would no longer reach the ground wasn’t so far ahead.

     Erwin had allowed this all to happen, saw it coming, had been warned about it, and he used to believe himself better than this; and now he simply couldn’t be bothered anymore. He was getting what he deserved, and the more days passed, the less he believed his first thoughts when he had woken up to his right arm missing: that it was a fair price to pay for all he’d done. Now, the loss felt like a cheap bargain. So, whatever else life was throwing his way, he would only stand there and take it.

     He took a deep breath in, filling his lungs with air instead of salt water, and took a step forwards. Then another one. Before he knew it, Erwin found himself picking up the remaining evidences of his bad days, arranging them where they belonged, tucking them away in the trash, the dishwasher, the laundry machine. He swiftly dusted all that stood in his way, put some order back and chased chaos away, all the while humming softly to the Schubert record he’d put on.

     His steps brought him to the small table at the end of the corridor, and after quickly throwing his cigarette pack back into the drawer pf the phone table – _until next time –_ he sat down next to it, his chores already half-forgotten. He picked up the receiver, typing the first digits of Mike’s number. He stopped halfway through when his gaze caught the open page of the notebook laying on the table where he’d scribbled down a name – _something Reiss, was it?_ – and a phone number. Erwin had not been seeking to add another student to his schedule, but, he thought, he had been daring enough today, and if he really was about to tie his life back together, then he decided he could use a few more hours of distraction a week.

     He dialed the number and was quickly greeted by the same thick German accent at the other end. The two men exchanged a few words about Erwin’s work, and agreed to meet the following Friday.

 

     When Friday came, Erwin exited the opera house in the middle of the afternoon after untying himself from Hange’s claws, who was too invested in a rather one-sided conversation about the brand new lighting system. Once he finally managed to escape, Erwin took the tube up to Michel-Ange – Auteuil, feeling slightly out of place as he stepped outside again. He walked through streets that were too bright, too big, too expensive, and stopped in front of a towering Hausmannian building, tall and narrow, its walls and windows spotless, covered in fine sculptures and golden lines. Erwin readjusted his jacket, made sure no hair was sticking out, and rang the bell labeled “R. Reiss”.

     The inside of the apartment was as grandiose as the exterior, not that Erwin expected otherwise given the location. The reception room was probably as big as the whole of Erwin’s appartement together, and he knew he was far from being poorly housed. He was used to hanging around the wealthy Parisian bourgeoisie, but this was on another level entirely.

     He listened to the short, middle-age man, Rod Reiss, sat around a cup of tea, his words coated by a thick accent that made Erwin struggle to follow. That was only halfway through his drink that Erwin realised his mistake – or, rather, Zackley’s mistake, for recommending him to Monsieur Reiss: he had not been contacted to teach this man’s daughter music theory, but instead, supervising her cello practise. Something that Erwin had purposefully – painfully – stopped doing years ago.

     He opened his mouth, about to set the record straight and decline the job, when a small figure appeared in the doorway of the sitting room.

 “Ah, Historia, there you are. Come on, come on, Herr Smith is already here. We were just talking about you.”

     She bowed her head down, her hands joined together nervously.

 “Historia…” Monsieur Reiss pressed on, tone slightly irritated. The girl looked up to him. “Please excuse her, she is very shy.”

     Erwin nodded, and raised his gaze to her, putting on his most inviting smile. As she finally stepped forwards, light and hesitant, her golden hair slid away from her face. Erwin’s eyes widened, his heart jumping up his throat.

 “Monsieur Smith, it’s an honour to meet you,” the young girl said in a quiet voice, eyes on her feet, her hand sticking out to shake Erwin’s.

     _Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman, Kirstein, Bott, Lenz – Lenz. Christa Lenz._

     No. This couldn’t be…

 “I am Historia Reiss.”

     Erwin blinked, trying to shake the images away, to cover the sound of the name with a forced cough. It took him longer than it should have to recollect his mind, at least enough to realise he had left the girl hanging, and that two pairs of bright blue eyes were looking at him intensely.

     _Christa Lenz._

     Erwin struggled to raise his left hand to meet Historia's, the mere gesture knocking the air out of his lungs

     _Christa Lenz._

 “It– It is very nice to meet you Historia,” his voice sounded deeper and sterner than it had in years.

     The heat kept rising in his chest, his blood simmering, and there was nothing to keep it from overflowing now. This sense of panic, the way his peripheral vision darkened, how cramped his lungs grew, all too familiar. He must get out of here. Now.

 “So,” Monsieur Reiss resumed, “where were we again?”

     Erwin stood up suddenly, legs weak under the weight of the disorientation that was swallowing his poised, impassive masquerade whole. He was about to make a fool of himself and he knew it, but the air was getting too thick to breathe and the commotion at his head, harder to ignore.

 “I am sorry, I think Zackley misinformed you. I don’t teach the cello. I’m afraid I cannot be of any help to you. Best of luck.”

     Erwin was already on his way out, any kind of politeness long forgotten. The front door, the way out of this trial was within reach when a sturdy hand caught his forearm.

 “I know you don’t, Herr Zackley told me so,” the German accent was even harder to follow, “but I don’t care about that, Herr Smith. You’re the best cellist of the country. I want you to take upon my daughter’s teaching. I want her to enter the conservatoire next year, I know you can help her to get there.”

“I cannot help you.”

“Herr Smith. I will pay you good money. Very, very good money.”

“I don’t need money.”

     Erwin dared to raise his blurry eyes to the young girl, stood alone in the middle of the sitting room that looked even bigger around her small stature. Her head was low, whole body curled inwards as she was hugging herself with fidgety hands.

     She was way too much like Christa Lenz. _Exactly_ like her.

     Erwin pulled his hand away from the man’s grip, and turned to face the front door.

 “I’m sorry, I cannot help you.”

     He reached for the doorknob and turned it.

 “Think about it, Herr Smith.”

     He nodded, out of polite habit more than anything. His decision was final. He stepped out of the appartement, Monsieur Reiss’s words already forgotten, his mind only filled with the hope to hold the panic attack long enough until he reached his home.

     But then he found himself at the end of the line, a station he had never been to in his life, and he couldn’t remember ever getting into the train. He mindlessly switched platforms to catch the train back to the city, and his eyes fell onto the tube map as he waited. His heart rate suddenly picked up upon realising that none of the names sounded familiar. He blinked, and as he strived to clear his head, realised that he had no recollection of where he was headed. Where he lived. Where he was. When it was. His eyelids jerked open. The tiled walls were getting closer and closer, squeezing his lungs together.

     Someone pushed him in the shoulder while hurrying to the departing train, and it sent the empty sleeve of Erwin’s jacket flying. He followed it with his eyes, a sudden charge of panic twisting his guts painfully at the sight of emptiness where his right arm should be. Had _always_ been.

     Erwin stumbled back a few steps, his legs wobbly, his head spinning, his right side inexplicably missing, and when he pried a glance around, he was in a foreign, unknown country, unable to understand a single word that was spoken around him.

     His legs gave out, and he curled in on himself, pressing his knees tight against his chest, and burried his head in between, heaving and gasping.

  _It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make any_ fucking _sense._

     He remained there, shaking and repeating the words in hurried whispers until a RATP employee approached him cautiously. It wasn’t after the third time he repeated his question that Erwin was torn back to the present moment, suddenly remembering where he was, what language was being spoken to him, and why his body felt so unbalanced.

 “Are you alright sir?”

     He raised his gaze, low-lidded and hollow to the man, who frowned when their eyes met.

 “Hey, look mate, you can’t stay here, it’s a metro station, not a freaking shelter for bums like you. If you don’t go away now, I’m calling security.”

     Erwin wanted to laugh at the circumstance. So, being an amputee was all it took for him to stop being regarded as a decent human being? He shook his head. He couldn’t blame them, he didn’t think any higher of himself either.

     He apologised, his French stammering and heavily accented, and exited the station. The sharp air hit him like a cold shower. He looked around himself. He still had no idea where he was – _France, somewhere in the Parisian suburbs_ – how late it had gotten – _early evening of_ _October 17th, 1989_ – but the brand new one-floored small houses he found outside, glowing under the streetlamps against a pitch black sky, told him that the past few hours of his life were forever lost.

     Two days of respite, this was all Erwin got this time. The next wave was already onto him, forceful and destructive. There it was, the breaking point, the moment he had been dreading for years. Insanity.

 He needed help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I sadly cannot promise any kind of uploading schedule, but I'll try my best to be somewhat consistent with it. The next few chapters are already written, so they should come out quite soon, but other than that, I don't know what will happen, ha.
> 
> You can go follow my [tumblr](https://tidal-sehnsucht.tumblr.com/) for more updates, more eruri, more tragedy.
> 
> Additional tags/warnings:  
> \- mentions of death  
> \- detailed description of depression/PTSD/god knows what else kind of mental illness Erwin has  
> \- implied self-harm  
> \- smoking - heavy drinking/alcoholism (that applies to pretty much every chapter tbh)


	2. CODA - chapter ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a quick thank you for the feedback and kudos and hits I got on the first chapter, you guys are the cutest. Smooches on your beautiful faces, and I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter~
> 
> Also, I debated in my head for weeks wether or not I should change Isabel's name for the French spelling and in the end I went for it. Which doesn't make too much sense since I left all the other names as such (I mean, seriously, "Livai", nope), but, yeah, that's a thing. Hope it won't trouble your reading too much.

 

    There weren’t many reasons to explain why Erwin found himself standing in front of the Red Cross building the following Wednesday evening. Or, perhaps, there were too many. Either way, it wasn’t with reason, but rather, uncertainty that he walked through the white doors, stepping away from the endless gusts of icy wind, and welcoming the comforting warmth of the loud room. If anything, he could simply pretend that he was seeking shelter from the grey clouds that were threatening to burst out any moment now. He took a few hesitant steps forwards, but his mind was already urging him to turn back. Instead, he simply stood there and scanned the room with indecisive, low-lidded eyes.

    Everything around him was moving almost in a blur, and that made him still his stance even further. Right in front of him stood the big front desk, plastered with various printed papers, behind which sat two middle-aged women; one scrubbing the underside of her painted nails with an unwavering concentration, and the other, tangling and untangling the cord of the phone she was holding to her ear with a disinterested stare. Erwin almost laughed at how intimidating they appeared, despite all appearances. He took a deep breath in, gathering the will to simply take the few steps forwards and put on his usual charming smile on display for them.

    It really shouldn’t be that hard to do just that, but he couldn’t find it anywhere within himself to go through with it. Hange had convinced him that it was the best thing to do. Mike had convinced him that it  was the right thing to do. But, despite whatever determination his last alarming state of panic had arisen in him, Erwin had yet to convince himself that this was anyting at all.

    Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all.

    Before he could will his body to move again, someone collided into his spine, someone small enough to bounce back as he stood still. He turned around quickly, his arm reaching to whoever had been absent minded enough to miss the towering stake that he was, and enclosed his hand around a frail shoulder.

“Huh, sorry, didn’t see you there, Monsieur big man. Sorry!”

    Erwin’s eyes fell down on the short girl before him, carrying a huge cardboard box in her small hands.

“I was standing in the way, my apologies.”

“Yeah, you were a bit, weren’t you?” She smiled at him, bright ivory teeth against sun-kissed skin.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, no problem sir, all fine here!”

    She began moving away, but stopped before she even took a step to turn her head back at Erwin, and scanned him openly, her eyes filled with an odd mixture of sympathy and interrogation.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Either that or you’re plotting to steal all the food supplies we’re taking in.” She looked down the box she was carrying, then back to Erwin, a small pout pursing her lips. Her eyes squinted as she scrutinized Erwin even further. “If that’s the case, you just come back tomorrow, we’re distributing these at noon, there should be enough for everyone.”

“Oh no, I’m fine, really,” Erwin shook his head, one eyebrow sitting low on his eyelids. It was the second time in a week that he had been mistaken for something he was not, and although he wanted to blame it on the bags beneath his eyes and the scruffy stubble at his jaw, he knew there was more to it. Nothing truly harmful, except for his pride, but something to keep in mind nonetheless.

    Erwin didn’t realise that he had shifted slightly so that his right side hid behind the folds of his jacket.

“But if you really need something for tonight, I’ll see what I can do,” she went on, completely ignoring Erwin’s previous statement, instead seeming like she was focusing on simply being charitable in every way she could. “Although, you do look big enough to have plenty of reserve to hibernate the whole winter,” she then muttered to herself, her eyes stuck on Erwin’s chest, brows furrowed.

    That remark tore a silent chuckle from Erwin, amused by the thousand contradicting thoughts that seemed to be running through that redhead. Her eyes ran up to his face again, and she gave him an awkward smile while readjusting the box in her hands.

“That’s a cute badge you’ve got there, Monsieur big man,” she started with her chin pointed to the collar of his jacket, where Hange’s birthday present was pinned still, “Is it a violin or a cello? I can never tell the difference. I mean, I can, but not when they’re so small.”

“The easiest way to tell them apart is that a violin would have a chin rest at the bottom.”

“Oh, right. So it’s a cello then,” she added after a quick glance at the pin. “That’s cool, my big brother plays the cello, he’d love it!”

    Erwin nodded, responding to her cheerfulness with a smile, and opened his mouth to answer, but the words died in his throat at the loud click of a tongue that erupted behind him.

“Oi, snotty brat, those boxes aren’t going to unpack by themselves. Get a move on.”

    Both her and Erwin’s heads turned at once, and Erwin remembered that annoyed voice at the very same moment he saw its owner: the short, shadowy cellist from the other day. Blond and black eyebrows simultaneously shot up in surprise.

“The hell are you doing here, British guy?” he snarled as he took the box from the girl’s hands.

    She tilted her head, her gaze shifting to them both.

“How do you know he’s British?”

    Actually, Erwin wondered the same. As far as he was aware, he had been pretty good at blending in.

“Is my accent that obvious?” he dared to ask.

    The man shrugged and turned away, his charcoal hair swaying smoothly around the frame of his cheekbones.

“No, you don’t have any accent, actually,” he started as he walked towards a long line of tables at the corner of the room. “But it’s really not that hard to figure out. Only the English are bold enough to wear such an unappealing brownish tweed jacket with grey trousers _and_ a green striped shirt. And by bold, I mean, inconsiderate of anyone else’s eyes.” He stopped to drop the cardboard box onto one of the tables, and turned around it, facing Erwin again, his eyes small and lined with dark shadows. “Also, “flow” is a masculine noun.”

    Erwin shook his head with a silent laugh; the man seemed to be as blunt as he had been the previous week. It was too enthralling to pierce any hole at Erwin’s ego.

“Did I make such an easy mistake last time? That’s surprising.”

“Ah, and how could I forget? The pretentiousness. Nothing screams British quite as this. Apart, maybe, from the thousand times you apologised in the span of ten minutes last time.”

“Fair enough,” Erwin replied with a puff, surprised at how unreceptive he felt at being plucked from his dignity with such ease.

    That was only then that their gaze parted, and Erwin had almost forgotten about the girl who was rocking on her feet at the other side of the table.

“So, do you guys actually know each other or…?” She turned to the man next to her, who was already away from the conversation and instead picking cans of food from the box he just opened.

“No,” the affirmation was devoid of any emotion. “He’s the rude guy who bought that piano from Farlan,” he added after a bit, indifferent and undisturbed in his task.

    The freckled girl looked up to Erwin again, her eyes wide at first, and then sending him a dubious look. She picked up the cans that her friend was putting down in her hands, and held them tight against her stomach.

“Well, no free food for those who can afford a piano!” She scowled with a pout that was anything but genuine, the corners of her lips struggling to hide her amusement.

“Damn, it seems I’ve been caught,” Erwin played along, faking a saddened expression.

    She smiled at him, all teeth and gums as she dropped the cans back to the table, and that was enough for Erwin to decide that whatever he was having right now was much better than anything he expected from coming here in the first place.

“God, Isabelle, what’s with this mess? If that’s how you’re going to unpack this shit, then go make yourself useful somewhere else, jeez.”

    She grunted and took a step back when the short man pushed her aside to pick up the cans she had just scattered down. He muttered something under his breath, no real animosity in his voice. Just sibling banter, Erwin supposed. Isabelle watched him for a bit, then shrugged and walked away, waving her hand at Erwin as she did so.

“So, why are you here anyway?”

    Erwin turned his head back in front of him and met with the cold metallic gaze of the man who was arranging the cans with an almost mechanical tidiness, turning them ever so slightly so all the labels were perfectly aligned.

    Erwin wondered if it would be wise to answer by returning the question. He might have been quick to judge the man, but still, the Red Cross station was the last place Erwin would have pictured him spending his evenings.

“Alright,” he added after Erwin took too long to decide on his reply, “So what? You’re too buff, too stiff, too well-behaved, you look like the whole world fell on your shoulders, and…” his eyes flicked to Erwin’s right side, “Obviously, you’re missing an arm.”

    Erwin blinked, once again, amazed at how tactless the man sounded. And, once again, Erwin didn’t find it in himself to feel offended, quite the contrary. It had been too long since anyone had dared to be that plain-speaking to him.

“That I am.”

“Which one was it then? Lebanese civil war? Pretty sure the British army was involved as well.”

“Falklands War,” he corected.

    The man let out a low hum at that, and then secluded his attention from Erwin entirely, putting the now empty box away and picking another one up from beneath the table. He opened it and repeated his earlier, meticulous actions. Erwin watched him work, his brows furrowing gradually, unsure whether he was expected to say anything, or to leave it at that. As he was about to decide on the latter, the man raised his head back to him.

“You know that the group talk party thing for the loonies started like ten minutes ago?”

    Erwin scoffed, himself just then reminded that this was the reason he was here in the first place. Not that he ever really planned on attending anyway.

“Yes, I am aware.”

    At that, the man started muttering something under his breath, disappearing under the table for a few seconds.

“So, what do you guys even discuss there anyway? Do you give them camouflage tips?”

“No idea. I’ve never been.”

    He stopped fumbling with the cans for a moment to give Erwin his full attention. He raised a thin dark eyebrow at him, crossing his arms.

“Why not? You think you’re better than this?” For the first time, Erwin sensed genuine spite in the man’s voice.

    Erwin took a moment to process the words in his head. The man didn’t cease to stun him with how easily he was reading right through his façade like it was made of glass. If anything, it now felt almost disturbing. And Erwin found himself being unable to say anything but the unveiled truth.

“Something like that, yes,” he admitted sheepishly.

    The man looked at him silently, eyes squinting so intensely there were nothing left of them but a black dot lost in a white line. Erwin felt himself shift uncomfortably in place before such discernment. Then, the man simply snorted, uncrossed his arm and resumed his task. Erwin only watched him, bewildered.

“Well, if you’re just gonna stay there, then at least make yourself useful, British blondie,” he stated after a while, sliding another box at Erwin’s end of the table.

    Erwin opened his mouth to utter some kind of protest, before concerning himself with what he was about to say: that he couldn’t do anything with only one arm. He frowned, horrified by his own thoughts. This excuse had been thrown at him so many times in the past years - and he had hated it every single time - and yet, it had become so natural at this point that it seemed to have been imprinted in his reaction system. This was an absurdity he’d have to sort out at a later time. For now, Erwin simply shook his head and reached for the box in front of him.

“By the way, my name is Erwin.”

“I know that,” he pulled out a couple of soup cans from the box, “but until I run out of other names to call you, I won’t use it. It can be a while, your royal highness.”

    Erwin laughed candidly at that. His chest fluttered lightly, and he could only find himself thankful for the impudence of the short man at the other side of the table. It was for the first time in way too long that someone was regarding Erwin without a single care about his obvious handicap, and quite simply, treated him like he deserved to be – for the better and for the worst – reminding him he was only human. One who, perhaps, had taken the comfort of being handled like a dented porcelain cup, with too much consideration and pity, and who, despite himself, had started to believe it. This was, for sure, a breath of fresh air.

“Suit yourself, then.”

    Erwin ran his eyes down the crown of the man's head, and stopped at the two golden rings he wore at his left lobe. He found himself curious to know how to call him other than any derivative of darkness and shadows, that he decided, suited him less and less. And while he waited for him to take the cue and introduce himself properly, the man did not, and only opened his mouth again to remind Erwin that there was work to be done. Erwin urged himself to get back to his task, flustered by how much he had already managed to make a fool of himself in so little time. At this point, the short man – that too, didn’t seem like the most considerate way to call him – might have all the wrong ideas about Erwin’s character.

“So,” Erwin started, deciding to take the matter into his own hand, “what about–”

“Levi. The name’s Levi. That’ll be better than whatever height related nicknames you were putting together in that stupid blondie head of yours, you tall-ass giant.”

“What a shame, I was starting to come up with pretty nice ones,” he smirked at the ferocious glare his sentence tore from the short man – _Levi_.

    Erwin finished emptying the box, leaving it to Levi to put them on display neatly.

“And your sister, it’s Isabelle, right?”

“What sis–” Levi closed his eyes, visibly dismissing something from his thoughts. “Yes, Isabelle. And, she’s not my sister.”

“Oh, my bad. I thought she mentioned something about it.”

“Yeah, she does that. But she’s just… A stray cat. Or, actually, ferret. Yes, she’s a ferret.”

“So, she’s just a friend of yours then?”

    Levi frowned.

“Don’t even think about it. Whether she’s my sister or not, just, don’t.”

“About what?” It struck Erwin what Levi just implied, and his eyes opened wide as warmth spread on his cheeks. “Oh, no, no, I wasn’t– No. I’m not…”

    He let out a rough sigh, finding himself, once again, at the crossroad of yet another misunderstanding from which he struggled to find the way out. This was way too quickly becoming a habit.

“Yeah, you better not, you creepy pervert. She wouldn’t be interested in an ancient idiot like you anyway.”

    Erwin only half-smiled at that. It wasn’t so much because of Levi’s endless teasing, but rather, the essence of the idea itself. Dating had been the last thing on Erwin’s mind, and it had remained so for years. He still marvelled at Hange’s perseverance, who never failed to give him the number of literally any woman who ever crossed her way, which Erwin always ended up trashing without any second thought. Hange knew it, but her insistence, if at first had been rather annoying, nowadays, was simply something to admire, despite how vain it was.

    Maybe it only was another game from Levi, who, for sure, was taking an obvious pleasure in unseating him and making him drown in excuses and flushed cheeks, but, nonetheless, it was the only time his snarky words had breached Erwin’s core.

    His mind travelled back to the name of Marie, unable to avoid the five waltzing letters for longer. Two simple syllables that prickled at his temples on the daily, a grim reminder of how easy it was to break someone with the best of intentions and white lies of reassurance. It had taken Erwin way too long to open his eyes again and meet the damage the salty waters had done to her delicate porcelain skin and heart. It had been too late, then, to correct his aim, to piece her back together, and so he had left with nothing but his regrets.

    His reminder that, despite the appearances he was so careful about, he was but a hollow shell of flesh and missing bones, hiding blood tainted sea water pulsing into a chaos that was bound to unleash on whoever dared to get too close. His reminder that, it was no accident that he was standing inside the Red Cross building that very moment, but also that, he had been wearing his pride too tight around his throat to ever accept any kind of help that was offered to him.

    Then instead, he had simply left the building later that evening with nothing to hold onto but an intriguing name perched at the tip of his tongue, one he had no idea what to do with. _Levi_. Maybe, his last reminder – the contradicting one – that told him that he was but another human, just like any other, and that, really, he could live with the broken pieces of himself just fine. The stubborn reminder, but the only one Erwin wanted to cling onto.

 

\- - -

 

“So, in the end, you didn’t go?”

“No, I didn’t.”

    Erwin heard a thoughtful hum on Mike’s end.

“And you stopped seeing a therapist after you moved back to France, right?”

“I stopped long before that.”

“God, you’re a mess,” Mike sighed heavily, but the tone of his voice still held some kind of understanding. “Isn’t this exactly why you left England again? To flee your problems, _again_?”

“You know the answer to that already.”

“But this time it didn’t work quite as well, did it?”

“No, not really.” Erwin paused, turning his head to the window above the small table against which he was leaning, the view blurred by the merciless October showers. “Not at all.”

“I suppose that’s the thing about gambling. It might work once, but you never know about the next.”

    Erwin smiled loudly at that, short breath escaping his nostrils.

“It’s a good thing I cut off the habit then, right?”

“Did you really? What would you call this then?”

“A jam session.”

    There was a long pause.

“Erwin.”

“I know. Whatever you’re about to say, I know. I just…” Erwin sighed heavily. “I’m just trying to deal with this in my own ways.”

“And I’m gonna say it once more, just for good measure, but you don’t have to do this on your own, Cap.”

“I know.”

    Mike remained silent for a bit, most likely silently cursing Erwin for being so stubborn.

“So, you’re really parting with Marie’s piano then?”

    Erwin hummed in response, locking the phone between his ear and his shoulder and took a sip from his wine glass.

“About damn time. I can’t believe you actually went through the hassle of bringing it all the way from England knowing full well you’d never touch it again.”

“I was… Foolish.”

“That’s the understatement of the century, Cap.”

    Erwin let out a light chuckle at that, putting his glass down.

“What? Are you gonna deny it?”

“Oh, no, quite the contrary. This has been brought to my attention enough as of late.”

“Has it? Good. Who’s responsible for it, so I can pay them a drink?”

“Remember that cellist from the other day?”

“That shadowy midget, right?”

    Erwin laughed at the nickname, that he probably had been the first to use.

“His name’s Levi, actually.”

“Wait a second. You saw him again?” Mike’s tone was full of genuine surprise.

“He was volunteering at the Red Cross station, can you believe it?”

    Mike scoffed.

“Small world.”

    Erwin nodded, travelling back to his encounter with the young Reiss girl. Even now, he couldn’t shake the suffocating image of her big blue eyes and the shine of her golden hair around her small stature. Part of himself wondered if she was actually that much alike Christa Lenz, or if his mind was playing yet another dirty trick on him. Either way, the feeling had been too real to be ignored. Not that Mike ever needed to know about this, he had enough to deal with already.

“Small world indeed.”

“Does that mean you’re actually making new friends?”

“Don’t get too excited Mike, it was just a happy accident.”

    Mike grunted at how easily Erwin had dismissed the idea. He was too easy to read, even with the English Channel between them.

“It’d do you some good to meet new people, you know? You should do something about it.”

“It’s fine.”

“Not really. You’ve been living with past as sole company for too goddamn long now.”

    Mike was right. Of course he was right. Erwin had stuck to a life that no longer existed; like every breath he had taken since the war had been worthless. There had been nothing, no one new ever since. There had been but memories he hated to revisit, but did anyway, and regrets to drink and smoke about.

    He thought back to Levi, and if it weren’t for his awkward cello playing that afternoon, Erwin would never have seized the courage to do something about the huge piano that was catching dust in his living room. But more than that, he remembered the way Levi had treated him, seen right through him and been unafraid to say it. It had been… a new grasp on the present moment. A fleeting one.

“What do you suggest then?” Erwin asked precariously.

“Actually go to that support group. If you don’t want to bond with other people from there, well, maybe you’ll meet that midget again. Or someone else. Anyone, really.”

    Erwin snorted.

“You should team up with Hange about that.”

“Erwin, I’m serious.”

    He leaned his temple against the cold window with a sigh.

“I’ll think about it.”

    Erwin took a moment to breathe deeply, to let Mike’s words settle somewhere in his brain; hopefully, somewhere he would find them again.

“What about you then? How’s therapy going?”

    He heard some rustling on Mike’s end, followed by a loud thump and a deep sigh.

“Pretty well. Haven’t had any nightmares in over three months. Things are great, really.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

    The silence fell back between them, only slightly disturbed by the muffled noise of a TV set sputtering somewhere around Mike. Erwin knew that his friend was hanging in hesitation.

“Do you… I don’t know. Do you want to talk about it, Cap?”

“No, I’d rather not.”

    Mike needn’t carry the weight of Erwin misery, especially not after he'd finally managed to free himself from his own. Not that Erwin had much to say anyway; Mike already knew everything that had happened to him; he had been at his side when it did.

“Right.”

    An awkward silence followed, a rare occurrence between them, and Erwin urged himself to leave the subject entirely. He quickly thought of some generic question that would, hopefully, spark some interest in his friend. Mike caught on quickly, and with that, the subject of Erwin’s demons was put aside, for the thousandth time, until the next. That was good enough, for now.

 

\- - -

 

    Erwin hadn’t known how wrong he had been in assuming he’d seen the last of Levi, for the next time he met with the steel, narked pupils was only two days later. He showed up at his doorstep, hidden in Farlan’s shadow. They exchanged words briefly before setting to work. The first thing had been to clear Erwin’s living room of his piano, and they had been quick to realise their mistake in assuming it could be a two men’s job. Erwin offered his help, although unsure himself what he could do with only one arm. His questioning was cut short by Levi’s snarly voice: “Don’t bother, I wouldn’t want to get into legal trouble for getting a cripple killed under a damn piano, I’ve got enough on my plate already”. Once again, Erwin could only smile in wonder at the lack of sugarcoating.

    Levi and Farlan got on with it nonetheless, began with strapping large cords all around the piano, and Erwin simply watched, allowing his eyes to rest onto the golden engraving on the side of the instrument for the last time. “ _To the beat of my heart, from Marie_ ”. He felt a slight pinching at his chest, and turned his gaze away from it without any second thought as he walked towards the bay window of the balcony to make room for the piano.

    Somehow, Farlan and Levi managed to lower the instrument down the three floors without much trouble, and Erwin had at least been somewhat useful by guiding them, not without an odd sensation of déjà vu at the way his voice resonated deeply with orders– _directions_. They both joined him down the street shortly after, Farlan taking loud gulps from a water bottle, and Levi wiping the sweat away from his forehead and lighting up a cigarette. The break was short, and after Levi uttered a mouthful of complains, he and Farlan tackled on their second task.

    As Erwin feared, getting a piano up three floors turned out to be a lot more trouble than lowering one. The whole process was lulled by an infinite display of Levi’s – truly astounding – extended vocabulary of curses, some that Erwin had no idea what they meant. He suspected, however, that Levi himself didn’t quite know either. Erwin did his best to be of whatever little help he could, but mostly, he found himself powerless again, and only watched them sweat the energy out of themselves. Whether it was Farlan or Levi, Erwin found himself quite impressed with how resourceful they were. His eyes mused over the deep crevices and ripples of bones, muscles and veins on Levi’s exposed forearms, how his skin was stirring, almost to breaking point, as drops of sweat dripped down onto it.

    Only when Levi’s white shirt was so drenched in sweat that it embraced every well-defined muscle of his back and the slight pinkish hue flushed through, did the piano find its new place in Erwin’s living room. Farlan unceremoniously collapsed on the sofa, panting and melting into it. Levi was fumbling through the duffle bag he had brought with him, pulled out a black piece of cloth from it, and asked Erwin to show him the way to his bathroom, not bothering with any polite rhetoric. He stepped back in the living room minutes later, his hair dry and his cheeks less red, and he had traded his white shirt for a thin black turtleneck jumper instead.

“Thank you very much for your trouble, quite frankly I didn’t believe you could do it.”

“Me neither,” Farlan sighed loudly, finally sitting up from his slouched position.

“May I offer you a drink? Coffee? Or something cold, perhaps?” Erwin added as he saw Farlan wipe his sweaty palms on his legs.

“Coffee sounds perfect.”

    Erwin nodded and turned to Levi, who was leaning against the frame of the balcony.

“Doesn’t the Queen of England have tea to offer?”

“I do, actually.”

“Good. Don’t you dare spoil it with milk. That’s such a gross habit of yours.”

    Erwin promised that he wouldn’t with a smile, and disappeared to the kitchen. He came back with a tray filled with a cup of coffee, and two empty ones next to a teapot of brewing Darjeeling. Levi was standing still, and when Erwin invited him to sit down, simply pulled a cigarette pack out of his back pocket, gesturing it around in a silent question.

“Sure, suit yourself.”

    He saw Levi light up a smoke at the corner of his eyes, and turned away to sit on the armchair facing the sofa Farlan had quite literally merged with.

“So, Erwin,” he started, leaning forwards with effort to pick up his cup of coffee, “I can call you Erwin, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

    Levi suddenly appeared before them and pushed Farlan aside to sit next to him, his half-consumed cigarette hanging at his lips. He sent Erwin a narrow look, silently reminding him that, he, however, had better plans than to address Erwin by his name.

“That was quite a prestigious piano you owned. You know, with just a bit of repair work, it would have worked wonders again.”

    Erwin sat back in his chair, crossing his legs, and brought a steaming cup of tea to his mouth.

“I’ll leave that to your capable hands then. Hopefully, it’ll find a happy customer.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will.” Farlan paused to take a few sips from his coffee, his brows furrowed slightly, as if he was expecting more from Erwin. “So, you play the cello too, I gather?” he added finally, his eyes stopping at the cellos tucked in the dusty corner of the room.

“Used to, yes.”

“Oh, sorry, that… I didn’t mean to…”

    Levi snorted loudly, sitting back to fully witness the redness creeping on Farlan’s face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Erwin concluded dismissively, his tone dulled by how many times he’d had to handle such situations in the past four years.

    Farlan let out a relieved sigh.

“You have quite beautiful cellos too. If you ever want to get rid of them, I’d be happy to help. Also, it might be easier on my back than a whole piano.”

“Thank you for your offer but…” Erwin took a sip of his burning tea, and his gaze met Levi’s unreadable one for a fleeting second, “I doubt that would ever be necessary.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Didn’t mean to sound pushy or anything, it was just a thought.”

    Erwin nodded, and locked his eyes back on Levi’s, which hadn’t left Erwin ever since he joined them at the coffee table.

“Although, it’s a shame that they are not being taken care of as much as they deserve.”

    One of Levi’s eyebrows arched, his interest clearly tickled by Erwin’s words. His gaze shifted to the back of the room, eyes unexpectedly soft. He then stumped his cigarette down the empty ashtray and poured himself some tea. His eyes rose back to Erwin as he sat back.

“I tried loosening my bow,” he started with a strain in his voice that sounded new in Erwin’s ears, “That probably didn’t change shit, but, at least, I suppose it didn’t make things worse either.”

“It’s a subtle thing, really, I was just being picky.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Levi sipped loudly. “So, you’re a cello teacher or something then?”

“I mostly teach music theory these days, not so much cello.” _Not at all_ was what he meant.

“Why not?” The usual impudence crept back into Levi’s voice. “You’re too sad you can’t play it anymore?”

    Erwin opened his mouth to reply an answer that he hadn’t quite formed in his head yet. Truly, Levi was way too good at pointing out every frailty of Erwin’s masquerade.

“Oh, crap, I didn’t see the time,” Farlan interrupted, sitting up at once. “I should get back to the shop, I left Ian there, but I’m really not sure how helpful he can be.”

“What? You’re telling me you had that idiot available and you asked _me_ to help you with that delivery instead? You bastard.”

    Farlan shrugged as he put his empty mug away and threaded his hands through his sweaty blond locks.

“I’m never leaving you in charge of the shop ever again, Levi. Madame Petit still has nightmares about it.”

“ _Tch_.” Levi swung his legs crossed in disdain. “If I end up with a lumbago tonight, I’ll make sure that you hear about it.”

    Farlan stopped the fumbling with his jacket he had been struggling to put on, and raised an eyebrow at Levi.

“Oh, it’s Friday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is Friday,” Levi repeated coldly, and the rim of his tea cup clicked against his teeth.

    Farlan stepped forwards, giving him a light pat on the shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, old man.” He ignored Levi’s protesting grunt and turned to Erwin. “Well, Erwin, it was really nice seeing you again. I hope this baby will get all the attention it deserves,” he pointed his chin to the piano.

“Don’t worry, it will.” Erwin stood up, cup set aside, and reached out his hand at Farlan.

    Then, he turned to Levi, expecting him to follow suit with Farlan, but it seemed like he had no resolution to leave his anchor on the sofa just yet. Erwin followed his gaze, to find that it was stuck to the cellos behind him.

“Levi?” Farlan called as he took a step away.

“Yeah, sure, see you later, you damn traitor.”

    He stopped, sent Levi a puzzled glance, then looked at Erwin, who stood as clueless as he was. Farlan shrugged and turned away, bidding them both farewell and exiting the flat hurriedly. At the sound of the front door closing, Erwin turned back to Levi, hoping to find answers on the man’s face. Although, Erwin was sure he already had a pretty good understanding of why he hadn’t left alongside Farlan.

“You boiled the water, didn’t you?” Levi was watching his half empty cup. “For someone who comes from a country where tea pours like rain, you’re really shit at brewing it.” At that, he took a long gulp.

    Erwin raised an eyebrow, and he decided not to pursue his tea brewing skills, and instead, sought to bring up the elephant in the room.

“I think I have the perfect cello for you,” Erwin stated simply, walking towards the said instrument. “It’s the one I used when I was a teenager, it should fit your stance fairly well.”

    He closed his hand around the neck, and took a second to pride himself for his victory, as, for once, he was the one who left Levi flustered.

“I’ll keep quiet, if you don’t want me to give you any advice and only want to play freely.”

    Levi frowned, the cup back at his lips before realising he had emptied it already.

“The strings need a bit of adjusting, but other than that, please, help yourself.”

    Erwin kneeled down, balanced the cello against the wall, and picked a string, making the instrument ring in every wrong way possible. He then brought his hand around the peg and turned it sharply five turns. He repeated the movement several times, picking the strings and turning the corresponding peg, assessing the rightness of the sound.

    It was then that it struck him that he was about to let Levi, a man he had just met, play his own childhood cello - the cello that had been neglected and abandoned to dust for so many years - inside his own home. As he held the it in his hand, adjusting it, touching it, making it ring, and as he watched Levi, who was looking at him with a scowl on his face, Erwin’s heart rate picked up in the most unpleasant ways.

    He remembered the chaotic encounter with the Reiss family, only a week ago, and how miserable it had left him. Yes, the fact that Historia looked too much like one of his former cadets had not helped his cause in the slightest, but the fact was that he had already started to feel the rush of panic before his eyes fell on her.   

“God, it’s going to take all day if you do it. Let me.” Levi finally gave in, standing up to walk to Erwin, and seized the cello from his hand.

    Erwin froze as Levi dropped down the stool behind him, cello between his thighs, and blew the dust away from it. Erwin shook his head, swallowing hard in attempt to untie the knot at his guts. This was a bad idea.

    If Levi noticed his sudden change in behaviour – of course he did, how could he, of all people, miss something so obvious? – he didn’t let it show, and simply picked up the adjusting where Erwin left it. Truthfully, he was doing such a terrible job at it that it managed to tear Erwin from his inner turmoil. He stood up again, shyly, and before he realised it, walked behind Levi, closed his hand around the G peg and turned it. And just like that, by having a cello that vibrated with notes between his hand, whatever thoughts Erwin had been starting to dig up vanished.

    When they finally managed to make the instrument sound just again, Erwin helped him adjust the endpin to the right size, and handed him a bow and a rosin stone which Levi seized. Levi carefully tightened it to the perfect stiffness and swiped its hairs on the rosin a few times before putting it away. Erwin stood back, his spine straight, and all of a sudden, he was in his mid-twenties again, renowned Palais Garnier’s main cellist and acclaimed conservatoire cello teacher, all pride and passion.

    He was back where he belonged.

    But when Erwin expected Levi to bring the bow to the strings of the cello, he simply laid it against his knee.

    Erwin had been too hopeful that it would be easy to lure Levi into playing; he remembered the sheer horror on his face when he had caught Erwin staring on their first encounter. But his veins had just been shot with a long lost confidence, and he was willing to use it to the last drop. He stepped back, thinking quickly, and decided to sit at his new piano – one he was finally willing to touch. He opened the lid and tried a few notes, simply to familiarise himself with the instrument, and to get the time to think up a melody easy and famous enough for Levi to catch up on it. He settled for the Prelude of Bach's Cello suite n°1, something any cello enthusiast would immediately recognise.

    Levi did not so much as blink at that, and Erwin switched tunes to one of Vivaldi’s cello concerto. He tried, again and again, going through his long repertoire of beginner’s melodies, but nothing made the man across the room budge.

    When Erwin raised his gaze again, he found Levi wearing nothing short of utter disinterest on his face, and he seemed rather busy trying to catch something stuck under his chrome silver premolar with the tip his tongue. Erwin bit his lower lip.

“Did I… Misread the situation?”

    Levi lazily looked at Erwin with wet whistle as his tongue retracted inside his mouth.

“No.”

    Erwin frowned. He would have to admit defeat then, and let go of the unexpected spark that had caught him off guard.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” He stood away from the piano, slowly. “If you need anything, I’ll be…” he vaguely pointed at the corridor, unsure where he was actually going to hide.

    He left the room after another glance at Levi, and his steps brought him to the kitchen. He mindlessly picked up some dirty silverware from the counter and arranged them in the dishwasher. His absence was quickly rewarded with a muffled note coming from the living room. Then another one, and soon, the whole flat filled with a rather odd version of the cello suite Prelude Erwin had started earlier; something unique, something only Levi owned. Erwin smiled, leaning against the counter, his eyes fluttering closed.

    Levi definitely did not enjoy having an audience. Erwin wondered if it was out of self-consciousness – admittedly, Levi’s playing had a lot of improvement to go through - or simply because music was something he would rather enjoy alone. It had left Erwin feeling like a thief in his own house, but there was something truly endearing in the way Levi played, and if the only way for Erwin to witness it was behind closed doors, then so be it. At the moment, the mere realisation that an actual cello was resonating within the confines of his own apartment was enough to make his stomach bubble with serenity.

    Erwin opened his eyes again a while later, when the silence filled the air again. He waited a few more moments before deciding to move. When he entered the living room again, he found Levi leaning on the iron railing of the balcony, a cigarette trapped between his lips. They stared at each other in silence, and Erwin found it silly now, that Levi had waited for him to leave the room; clearly, he was aware the Erwin could hear him from the kitchen too.

“What?”

    Erwin couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you for that. It was very pleasant to listen to.”

    Levi tapped the ashes from his cigarette with a scoff.

“But…?”

“But, nothing, actually.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Levi retorted sarcastically.

“If you really insist, then yes, I could tell you about everything you’re doing wrong by musical standards, but… I’m not sure I want to.”

    Levi turned around, his back pressed against the railing, his eyebrows arched up. He stared at Erwin, probably expecting him to amend his statement, or go through his lecture anyway, and when he understood Erwin wasn’t going to, he took a drag from his cigarette.

“What an awful teacher you make then.”

    Erwin hummed with a smile.

“Do you want me to teach you now?” he was only teasing, but suddenly the idea didn’t appear as absurd - terrifying - as it used to.

“Hell no,” Levi blew thick smoke, “I’ve been fine on my own up until now, I don’t need to hear your pompous shit.”

“Self-taught then? That’s pretty impressive.”

“If you say so.”

“Music is an art form that is not easily improvised if you do not know the basics first.”

“Who says that?” Levi sent Erwin a daring look, and when Erwin found himself shy of an answer, he continued, “Who cares, really? People are so fond of rules and laws and theories that they follow them blindly like it’s gospel, just because that’s what they’ve always been told is right. And to that, I say, bullshit. It’s music, for fuck’s sake, who freaking cares? Don’t look too much into it, I just play the cello because I want to, I couldn’t give two shits if my bow is too tight or if I don’t know how to read a music sheet.”

    Erwin leaned back, his arm wrapped around his stomach, and observed the white smoke dance around Levi’s face silently. He considered Levi’s words, his mind tossing fragments of memories from far back, and he suddenly saw himself again, when he was about Levi’s height - though, much, much younger - wording ideas that sounded too similar. A lot had happened since then, and Erwin could but admit that he too, had fallen into the ease of going with the flow without questions.

    But Levi’s words were not that; they were not the stubborn yet innocent ideals of a child. They were those of someone who was all too aware of what exactly the world was made of, and if the way Levi hid so seamlessly behind a stronghold of sarcasm and blunt honesty, if the way his eyes were always drowning in darkness, the waters so heavy that no sparks seem to be able to set ablaze in them were anything to go by, then Erwin sensed he might have found the shy peak of an answer.

“And yet, you listened to my advice,” was what Erwin settled on in the end, aiming to scratch at the surface.

    And given the way Levi’s hand froze, mere inches from his lips, the tip of his half-consumed cigarette flowing smoke in his eyes, Erwin sure did strike a nerve.

“Get down from your high horse,” Levi paused, taking a drag, giving himself time to think of his next sentence. “I just…” But not enough. “I mean, might as well try it.”

    Erwin uncrossed his arm. There was something new; and if earlier, he had felt a sense of victory when he threw Levi off balance, right now, he didn’t. A sudden curiosity began flooding his mind, unexpectedly so, about the short man standing in his living-room, right now looking almost timid behind his black cloak and his thick skin.

“Anyway,” Levi inhaled deeply, flicking the cigarette stub outside the window. “It’s not that I do not appreciate being in such a… messy home, nor that I do not enjoy being in the company of the Queen of England, but I have bigger fish to fry.”

    Erwin nodded, watching as Levi gathered his belongings, walked to the front door, and tied his worn-out Dr Martens’ shoelaces. He remembered Mike’s words: meeting new people would do him some good. He wasn’t so sure about it, but admittedly, it didn’t feel so wrong either. Erwin walked long strides to his small phone table, tore a page from a notebook, and scribbled his number on it. He joined Levi in the entryway as he flipped the collar of his long black coat up.

“If you ever feel like playing again, with or without the advice, please, don’t hesitate to come here,” Erwin reached his arm out, the small piece of paper between his fingers.

    Levi looked up to him, then to Erwin’s hand, his nose scrunched up.

“Okay,” he muttered lowly, snatching the paper from Erwin and shoving it in the pocket of his coat. “Anyway. Bye.”

    He turned to the door quickly, and Erwin wished him a good evening right before it slammed shut behind the small man. Levi would accept his offer, he could feel it; there was something Erwin couldn’t quite place about him, perhaps it was a sense of mutual understanding, one he assumed Levi felt too. Erwin stayed there for another moment, eyes on the door, a forgotten feeling of poise seeping down his rotten core.

    When he finally broke from the roots that were starting to grow at his feet, he headed to the phone receiver. He picked it up quickly as he fumbled with the buttons to find the number he had been looking for, and dialed it.

“Monsieur Reiss? Yes, this is Erwin Smith. I’ll teach your daughter.”


	3. CODA - chapter iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Once again, thank you for the positive feedback on this (:
> 
> I'm thinking of adding links to the different musics I'll be referring to in this fic, so this starts on this chapter. Links will be in the notes at the end of the chapter, feel free to check them out~
> 
> I also want to give big huge thanks to [TheIndifferentDroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid) for joining the beta-reading team (alongside [Melody_Of_The_River](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Of_The_River/pseuds/Melody_Of_The_River), as always)!

 

 

    October showers quickly turned into icy winds and long days into early dusks as November settled. The days stretched into a monotonous flow of biting cold. Some afternoons however, the clouds showed enough clemency to allow the sun to shine through. Today had been one of those days, and by the time Erwin exited the Reiss household, the dark veil of the night was already absolute, the streets only illuminated with festive lights, casting endless shadows on the pavements.

    Erwin was walking down the streets, avoiding the tube station to venture further through the roads, his coat and woollen scarf tight enough to keep him from shivering. He had a few hours to kill before joining Hange and Moblit at the bar. Even if Erwin’s own clouds had shown mercy too in the past couple of weeks – nothing but a handful of nightmares, manageable ones – he would rather occupy his time elsewhere than his own apartment. Ever since Marie’s piano had been replaced by the one Farlan and Levi had hoisted into his home, the air between the four walls had felt a lot lighter. However, Erwin wasn’t naïve enough to believe this alone would grant him salvation.

    There was something else now, something that kept him busy on Wednesday afternoons, something a lot more appealing than the Red Cross’ support group. Erwin had only met Historia Reiss for two classes so far, which against all odds, had gone by pretty uneventfully. If anything, it’d only made him reconsider his shunning vow against cello. His sharp-witted mind had always supplied him with thoughtful and unique strategies, but, it turned out that, when it came to think for his own sake, Erwin had never been particularly skilled. His sessions with Historia – and the unofficial one with Levi – had been another proof of it, and roused in him lucidity and composure he believed to have been lost in the war.

    Historia was timorous but extremely genteel and showed great talent with her practice. Erwin had started questioning whether or not there was anything more he could infuse her with, except for supervision and mild guidance. Erwin couldn’t shake the feeling that this was not enough. It had not taken him more than a few minutes in company of the teenager to know that he’d wind up more involved with her than he should . The blatant sadness that she hid carefully behind her soft smiles and benevolence stood out clear as day to Erwin, and it did not sit right with him; not when he had endured that exact expression on a girl who had died before his eyes. The leeching guilt and insufferable remorse that came with it were more than enough for Erwin to swear he was not going to let that consume Historia the same way it did Christa. It might have been selfish in intention and he may have been doing it more for his own sake than Historia’s, but it made Erwin feel like this was good enough.

    Her father had not lied, and the paychek had been exuberant. Erwin wasn’t going to complain about it; his savings were wearing thin, and the couple other students that filled his schedule, added to his military pension, were just enough to keep him afloat. That did not mean Erwin appreciated the man in any way; Rod Reiss was the kind of father who was forcing a long planned future onto his daughter, pushing her to exhaustion, both mental and physical, and Erwin couldn’t help but wonder if the reason for Christa’s reserved behaviour had been the same as Historia's. He remembered how the small girl always obeyed orders without any passion, how she strived to be good and benevolent yet with emptiness in her heart. Some nights, Erwin woke up jolting at the sight of her lifeless corpse telling him she never wanted any of this; that all she ever wanted was some peace.

    Erwin pushed his hand into his pocket, picking up the pace to cross the road and climb down the stone stairways to the docks. The lights shivered on the surface of the water, docile and quietly lapping at the passing of a boat. His eyes travelled up to the other side of the river to find the Eiffel Tower standing tall and proud, its silhouette lost in the darkness of the sky, but drawn out with thousands of flickering lights.

    He reached the bar an hour later, quickly shedding his extra layers of clothing as he did, and sat at a table in the corner. He checked the clock above the bar; despite taking a detour to walk in the company of the Seine, he still made it with plenty of time to spare. Hange and Moblit were a few streets away, supervising the first representation of _La Sylphide_ at the Garnier opera house. Erwin had his usual balcony booth seat reserved, but this time around, he declined the invitation; he had been doing decent in the past couple of weeks, and intended to keep it that way. Hence, avoiding to hear and watch the romantic ballet had been the wisest choice; there were memories that were better left untouched.

    He took a sip of his pint of stout, and sat back on the bench. There were memories that were too vivid to avoid.

    It had been Marie’s first lead role, the Sylph. He remembered the sheer ecstasy glimmering on her face when she had been cast, and Erwin would have been a fool to feel anything shy of joy and pride. Even if now, he struggled to recover the exact picture – all he had recollected of her as of late had been but the hurt and sadness distorting her delicate features – Erwin knew it had been there that day. It was back during the dawn of their relationship; they were still young, resourceful, full of unwavering passion and with careers booming in every way they had never hoped. Things were easy back then, or, at least, it now felt like it.

    They had celebrated until the first lights crept over the horizon, drunk on liquor, on success, on love. They had practiced days and nights, whether at the opera house under Zackley’s commands, or in the confines of Erwin’s cramped apartment, receiving heavy complaints from the neighbours. But nothing could subdue their euphoria, and Erwin’s mind wandered to one particular evening; he had been sat on a rickety chair, cello tucked between his legs, his bow swaying eagerly against the thick strings, and Marie’s graceful body followed the lead of the music, her lean muscles guided by the luscious notes that bent her spine and sprang her soaring feet on the creaky floorboards. The warm light of the streets filtered inside the small room, glowing on her bare skin like she belonged with the celestial gods. And when a loud bang at the door interrupted the waltz, it did nothing to pull them back down to Earth, and they simply dived into each other’s arms, giggling between wet kisses and heated caresses.

    Things were easy back then. She was young, beautiful, ethereal, and quite simply, she was happy, and Erwin had almost convinced himself that he was too.

    Erwin lowered his empty glass down the table, breathing in deeply as the first tingles of drunkenness coursed alongside his blood. He expected the weight of the reminiscence to settle in his guts and twirl uncomfortably with the drink, but nothing came. If anything, the memory had made his heart rise in his chest, warm and lively.

    It was not that Erwin missed _her_ , but rather, the easiness of those days. He missed the memories, the slow relief that Marie had brought upon his young tormented soul. She had been the atonement he had sought when he first decided to move to France, she had been the soft whispers and stolen smiles that eased his guilt. And even if, in the end, it had not been sufficient to make him whole again and she ended up paying the price for it, Erwin was grateful for the years of lucidity and elation she had brought upon him.

    He raised his eyes, interrupted by Hange and Moblit’s arrival. She greeted Erwin with her usual loudness, slumping next to him, swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Those lights man! You should have seen it! The future is upon us, I’m telling you, that new DMX512 console is so reliable and precise and… Erwin. I think I’m in love.”

    Erwin knew he would not hear the end of it anytime soon. He threw a quick glance at Moblit who simply shrugged, discarding all responsibility for his wife’s eccentricity, and walked to the bar to order their drinks.

“Oh, also, you know what?” Hange interrupted herself mid-speech about daisy chains, slave devices, and something else Erwin had not been quite following. “You know Rose? The new ticket girl?”

    Erwin blinked, the sudden change of subject slow to process in his slightly intoxicated brain.

“Huh– Yes.”

    He already knew where this was going.

“Well,” Hange leaned closer to him, looking above the frames of her thick glasses, and fumbled through the inner pocket of her leather jacket. When she pulled out a small piece of paper, Erwin fought the urge to sneer. “She’s into you. And I have her number.”

    Erwin moved back slightly, plucking the paper from her hand with a dubious smile.

“Playing matchmaker again?” Moblit put three glasses down the table, and sat down the chair across the bench.

“When is she not?” Erwin smirked, pulling his pint closer to him.

“Hey! I’m here, you know.”

“Very aware, love, and I’m sure the whole bar knows it too.”

    She huffed, seizing her tall glass filled with colourful layers, and took a big swig.

“But, hear me out. I did some background checks,” she resumed, slamming her hand to the table, undisturbed by Moblit and Erwin’s eye rolls. “Early thirties, though she looks much younger, so, that’s one good thing. Divorced, but the husband won’t be trouble, he moved to Spain years ago. She likes classical music, especially Mahler. She has a lovely German shepherd – you like dogs, don’t you Erwin? You look like a bloke who likes dogs. And,” she trembled with excitement, and Moblit reached to take her glass from her hands, “one of her ancestors was a renowned pirate!”

    This time, Erwin couldn’t contain the incredulous laugh, bringing his palm against his eyes.

“Sometimes I wonder if you either make this all up, or if you are a secret agent,” Moblit chimed in. “Either way, it’s freaking me out.”

“You married me, you have no right to complain.” She turned back to Erwin, “So, pretty good catch, don’t you think?”

    He opened his mouth, gesturing his hand hazily, and, in a last resort, turned his head to Moblit, who hid his face behind his glass.

“You know I’m not…” _interested in relationships anymore, in any way, shape or form_. “Nevermind. Thank you.” He slipped the paper in the inner pocket of his coat.

    Hange’s face lit up, and she reached for her half-empty glass again, clinked it loudly against Erwin’s, and downed it in one go.

\- - -

    They were three different rhapsodies melding at once like hammers at Erwin’s temples when he woke up the following day. He tossed and thrashed beneath the blankets, grunting at himself for not bothering to close the blind last night. He finally untangled himself from the mess of sheets, and after a shower, a cup of black coffee and two aspirines, the noise reduced to a dull lull. He dropped down the sofa, a buttered piece of baguette between his teeth, taking a moment to channel the silence. He still had a few hours to spare before meeting with his student, and so, he decided, he would spend them doing absolutely nothing of value.

    He sat back, legs crossed over the coffee table, and munched mindlessly on his piece of bread, his eyes lazily falling on the piano at his left. In the past few weeks, he had spent countless hours sitting at it, running his fingers over the keys, getting used to their slight stiffness. He couldn’t remember when he had last dedicated so much time to practising music, and he welcomed the change of pace; and apparently, so did his afflicted brain. At first, he wondered whether he had been too stubborn for denying himself this simple pleasure, if refusing to touch the piano Marie had gifted him had been but an excuse to dwell further down his misery. Playing the victim had been easier than trying to come to terms with his own responsibility.

    His eyes moved up to the windows, the sky too white for his groggy brain, and he closed his eyelids. The silhouette of the urban landscape against the bright clouds etched onto the inside of his lids, and Erwin began to question what had been so different this time around, what made it so difficult to find solace in Paris nowadays. Perhaps he had simply been lucky to run into Marie then, or perhaps it had been because Mike had been there too. Perhaps it was simply because he had been over fifteen years younger and still full of hope and a whole future ahead of him. Or had it been because, back then, he had actively been seeking repentance, relentlessly, and took every opportunity thrown at him to work his way towards a better end.

    And now, he realised that he had done nothing of the sort for years and merely expected for his life to make sense again, to rebuild itself, simply by moving back to France, the place where he had first found a semblance of happiness. He thought that, simply by being there, things would become easy again without having to lift himself from his sofa most days, and only by staying in the safe confines of his comfort zone: going to the same places, hanging with the same people, never straying from what was familiar. It was obvious now, that he had been too naïve, overlooking that he had to carry himself and his very heavy baggage wherever he went, and until he was willing to make the necessary efforts to shed it, the plague would keep gnawing his days away.

    Therapy, however, or any other kind of cure – support group – that demanded him to rehash his mistakes, his wrongdoings, his regrets, had never done him any good. He had ditched his therapist soon after leaving Marie, reckoning that, from then on, he would be better off on his own. Whoever’s idea it had been, whether his therapist’s or his, to seclude himself from the rest of the world, he could manage. The only part of this plan he had neglected was to look for a distraction, one good enough to keep his demons at bay. Cello used to be that, but he had long mourned the fact that there was nothing more he could do about this. Marie used to be that too, but he had been too selfish, and in the end, had dragged her down alongside him. Had she been too kind, too considerate to allow Erwin to unwillingly break her? Erwin had never seen her as weak or frail, but perhaps he should have opened his eyes better.

    He stretched his legs and turned his head to the other side of the sofa, where his coat had landed the previous night. He reached for the inner pocket and fished out the small piece of paper Hange had given him. Erwin had a vague idea of who Rose was; she had started working at the Palais Garnier about a month ago, running the front desk. He had bumped into her dozens of times, and they had exchanged a few words over the weeks, nothing more than mindless small talk. She was gleeful, polite and charming, but the magic of her charisma stopped there, as far as Erwin was concerned.

    He made the paper roll between his fingers for a while. It may be that he had not seen anything past their brief encounters because he simply hadn’t been interested. She was his type though; petite, long hair tied in intricate braids, gaze warm and sharp, and an overall French elegance painted red on her plush lips that Erwin was desperately weak to. What if he just needed to stop thinking so much and actually give it a try?

    He threw a quick glance at the clock, and he got up to his feet to get himself ready for the day. He would call her tonight.

    And as he did so, once he got back home from his few hours of work, holding the paper with Rose’s phone number scribbled on it, he remembered handing out a similar one to Levi, weeks ago, and he had been so convinced that the man would actually reach out and come back that he had forgotten to think about it. Now that he realised how much time had passed since then, Erwin felt a veil of disappointment shrouding his chest. Their oddly clumsy encounters had been refreshing, and Levi’s gauche, raw melodies had never quite ceased to reverberate inside Erwin’s ear-drums.

    He dismissed the thought and picked up the phone.

\- - -

        Rose and Erwin agreed to meet for lunch the following Sunday. He woke up early but well rested that day, pulled from his slumber by a slight nervousness that he welcomed. Too early, actually, and he busied himself in the extra time with a quick cleaning of his apartment – just in case – and by spending a long hour in the bathroom. He showered, shaved, tried on different outfits, and at the third option, he forced himself out of it, standing in nothing but his briefs in front of the mirror. His nerves, that so far had been helpful to get him productive, were now starting to act up in the most absurd ways. It was just a date, nothing serious, nothing too hopeful but a simple lunch shared between two responsible adults. There was no reason to feel more nervous than necessary.

    He took a deep breath in, meeting his crinkled eyes in the mirror. It wasn’t long until they travelled downwards, first at his chest. His muscle definition was long gone, but they were still there, standing sturdy beneath a layer of thick, plush skin. He sucked in his stomach lightly when his gaze fell upon it, and quickly decided to move somewhere else. Upwards, they met the ungraceful tip of his stump, sticking out grossly against his uneven skin, painted with remains of burnt flesh, scarred tissues and deep crevices of his right flank. Shiny scars ran down to meet in the middle of his arm, right where the hill of his biceps muscle would be. The skin there was thin, cragged and glowing pink – though, in the cold seasons, the hue verged on purple. Erwin frowned. He could never get used to the sight, never learn to accept it.

    And nobody else in their right mind should either.

    If Erwin had hoped to loosen his nerves by having a face to face encounter with himself, he would easily admit that he had failed; the bubbly, absurdly childish trepidation of a forthcoming date, the first in god knew how long, was now the crippling anxiety of his reality: ugly, unappealing and to be hidden in shame. He sighed, and did just that, hastily putting on a dress shirt and a heavy jumper of which he folded the right sleeve up and pinned it around the centre of his upper arm.

    He finished dressing quickly, avoiding the mirror, and almost ran to the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee, not without making a slight detour to dig up a cigarette pack from its hiding place first. He smoked three in a row.

    It was still too early when Erwin stepped outside, but he decided to walk the way to the restaurant, almost regretting it when a sharp gust of wind slid beneath his heavy coat. He tugged at the collar and kept walking, with the perfectly delusional hope that it would be enough to bring some definition back to his body.

    The crisp cold crawled into his head, settling into it like heavy ice cubes that froze his self-doubts, crushing them between chattering teeth, and by the time he reached his destination, there was nothing in his mind but a craving for warmth.

    He walked into the restaurant, the white mist of his breath quickly lost in the thick cigarette smoke trapped inside, took the seat suggested by the waitress at the entrance, and began fidgeting with the satin napkin while waiting. He seized this instant to congratulate himself for averting yet another crisis. All things considered, he was overall fine. It had been over three weeks without any notable incident, and he liked to think he had done a rather good job of keeping himself distracted. There were more reasons than not to be optimistic for what was to come. And for now, the next thing on the list was this date with Rose.

    Erwin might not have had many expectations, but he could not have predicted for this encounter with the younger lady to leave him so… unimpressed. And, also, slightly irritated. Okay, _very_ irritated.

    Erwin couldn't pinpoint anything actually wrong with the date. There were no major bumps or missteps. It was just... underwhelming. The two of them struggled to get any conversation flowing, always jumping from topics to topics that the other found no interest in. Erwin, pushing his luck, and very aware that they were only getting their starters served, hoped that they could at least find some common ground in music, but after arguing between courses about the blatant anachronisms in the modern stagings of classical ballets and operas, he decided that he’d had enough. And so, barely halfway through the main course, Erwin was itching to simply get up and leave.

    He could hear Mike’s smug laugh, a distant memory from their young adulthood, telling him how much of a gentleman Erwin was, and right now, Erwin wished he wasn’t politely nodding and flashing hollow smiles at the elegant face across the table, dragging the meal for longer than necessary. Rose was either good at pretending too, or she was genuinely enjoying their time together – the latter worrying Erwin about her lack of perception.

    But the latter it was, Erwin found out, for after he paid for both their meals, she didn’t seem ready to let go of him, and she resumed their earlier, disastrous attempt at discussing music. At this point, Erwin was almost boiling with the urge to turn around and run. But when she started walking in the opposite direction, whispering that she lived a few blocks away, Erwin still didn’t find it in himself to refuse her. He admired her sheer obliviousness and followed her, careful to keep his answers to the least amount of words manageable. It wasn’t until they were in front of Rose’s doorstep, as she offered him another cup of coffee inside, that Erwin mustered the courage to politely refuse and tell her he had other plans, quickly making something up, and scolding himself for not being straightforward with it.

    She simply nodded, disappointment straining her voice, but smiled as she said she was hoping they could meet again sometime. Erwin muttered something about the fact that they would probably catch one another again at the opera house and turned around sharply, finally freeing himself from her claws and walking away in long, determined strides.

    Bitterness was still coating the back of his throat once he stepped out of the underground station, and he craved to cover the taste with cigarette smoke instead. He patted his sides and grunted at their emptiness. He picked up the pace, and as he turned around the corner of his street, reckoned he was actually reaching insanity, for the strong smell of burning tobacco was already fogging his head in anticipation.

    It wasn’t until he reached the doorstep of his apartment building, head down, fumbling with his keys, that he realised it was because someone was actually smoking there, leaned against a windowsill. He threw them a quick glance, envious, and as he was about to turn the keys into the lock, he froze.

“You busy?”

    Erwin snapped his head back towards them, and as soon as his eyes focused, there was Levi in front of him, ripping a headset from his ears and throwing his cigarette butt down the gutter. Erwin’s eyes followed the pattern of the smoke and moved back to the small man once it dissipated. His eyebrows shot up at the vivid colours that struck his vision. Levi’s lower lip was split in half by a deep, crimson line, and his left brow bone was swarmed with twilight colours.

“No? Are you alright? What are you doing here? No, I’m not– What happened?”

    Erwin hurried through his words, the questions flooding his brain before his mouth could voice them.

“Open up then, what are you waiting for? It’s fucking freezing.”

    At that, Erwin could only agree, and Levi’s dire tone made him push the front door open wordlessly. Erwin’s eyes were still on Levi, who was quick to move behind him, his scowl settling deeper on his features. They climbed the stairs in an ominous silence, and once Erwin unlocked the door to his apartment, Levi simply walked past him as he kicked his shoes somewhere in the hallway, and disappeared to the living room.

    Erwin removed his coat, his movements slow and hazy, struggling to process the sudden change of events. His tired eyes landed on the black, spent leather shoes scattered at his feet as rustling sounds rattled down the corridor. Hanging his scarf on a hook, Erwin was greeted by a low, rich sound. Cello. But instead of the usual lightness that flooded Erwin at the vibrato, he found himself wincing, something definitely off with the way it echoed against the walls. He took cautious steps forwards, not bothering to question why he, once again, felt like he was the one intruding.

    He leaned against the door frame, not daring to venture further, and caught the sight of Levi sat on a stool, facing the windows, gesturing the bow against the strings with harsh, stiff movements, making the poor instrument hiss in all the wrong ways. Erwin was aware that Levi was not the most skilled player, but this was genuinely painful to hear. Even a deaf man could easily do a better job.

    Erwin cleared his throat to make his presence known, loud enough to cover the horrendous random notes thudding at his skull, but Levi ignored him plainly. Erwin only watched, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper, and, upon decinding he’d heard enough, turned around and hid behind the closed door of the kitchen. He found his cigarette pack laying there, and took one out, opening the windows and actually welcoming the sounds of the busy street below. Erwin wondered how long Levi himself could bear his own coarse playing, but when Erwin flicked the ashy filter of his smoke outside, the cacophony was still going.

    He remained in the kitchen, almost afraid to face the small man searing with wrath in the other room. Levi seemed to be testing the last remaining thread of patience he had left for the day, which was now on the verge of snapping. He sighed, stalling for time as he put the kettle on, fetched a teapot and cups. Upon removing it from the heat before the water boiled, he put everything down a tray, throwing his pack of Gauloises onto it too. As he was about to exit the room, he realised that everything had gone quiet. Erwin wasn’t quite sure if this heavy silence was any better than whatever racket Levi had decided to unleash earlier.

    Still, Erwin braced himself – he was in his own home, for God’s sake – and joined Levi in the living room. The man had not moved his anchor on the stool, but his hands were now crossed around the instrument, the bow twitching relentlessly between his fingers. He only acknowledged Erwin’s presence as he put down the tray and dropped onto the sofa, eyes intense on Levi. Searing steel met blue, and Erwin frowned, involuntarily mimicking Levi. He leaned forwards, reaching out for the pack of cigarettes, and gestured it towards Levi; a peace offering he hoped would be enough to break the thickness of the surrounding air. It seemed to work, as Levi’s shoulders dropped, and he quickly got up to his feet, put the cello away, and snatched the pack from Erwin.

    The rushed flicker of a lighter being ignited accompanied the heavy dip in the sofa as he slumped down beside Erwin. Levi remained silent, taking long, deep drags on his cigarette, eyes away from Erwin, and helped himself with the teapot. He quickly brought the cup to his mouth, sipping eagerly and clearly burning his tongue in the process. He let out a satisfied hum nonetheless, and his stance relaxed at last. He turned his head to Erwin, eyes narrow.

“So, what’s wrong then?”

    Erwin felt a bit taken aback by Levi's forwardness, wondering if their relationship had yet reached a point where they could divulge personal matters so freely. It had not. Erwin opened his mouth, closed it again, and busied himself with his own teacup instead.

“Well, that sounded like shit, so clearly, I’m doing something wrong.”

“Oh…”

    He sat back and blew the steam away from the surface of his drink. Levi may have seemed less tense now, as the ashes fell down his cigarette and the richness of the tea coated his throat, yet Erwin wasn't confident enough to tell him that it probably had everything to do with the obvious, menacing dark cloud looming above Levi’s head. Searching for the right, cautious words, his eyes fell down Levi's small hands, red and bruised at the knuckles. Levi followed his gaze, and hastily put his cup down the coffee table to hide his hands between his legs.

“You–” Erwin cleared his throat. “You have confidence in your movements, which is good, but you move around too much when you play.” His words almost came out as a question, gauging Levi’s reaction. The attentive silence he met on the other end invited him to pursue his assessment. “Your fingers are a bit rough on the strings, and you put too much pressure on them. You should try to go at them with the whole pad of your fingers, instead of the tip.”

    Levi gave him the slightest nod, unburying his hands from between his thighs and looking down to his palms. There was an odd bareness in the soft, humble glow of his eyes. It felt intrusive, witnessing this, and Erwin focused on emptying his cup instead. Now he almost regretted that Levi’s attention had been strictly practical, the urge to ask about the cuts and bruises filling his mind. Erwin knew better than to pry, and instead decided to give Levi the distraction they both needed.

“Actually, how about I… show you. If you don’t mind.”

“Okay.”

    He put down his cup with a light clink, and they both made their way to the far corner of the room. Erwin invited Levi to take his place on the stool and handed him the cello. He tucked it between his legs, straightened the bow and rested it on the C string. Erwin nodded and moved behind him, resting his hand at the small yet sturdy shoulder, which instantly turned stone cold and rigid.

“Sit up, you’re leaning forwards too much,” Erwin commanded with a soft and low voice.

    Levi did as told, and quickly shook Erwin’s hand away. Erwin hummed in satisfaction and moved to Levi’s left side.

“Give me your hand.”

    There was a second of hesitation from Levi before he complied. Erwin wrapped his fingers lightly around the lithe wrist, and guided it to the fingerboard.

“Now,” Erwin began as his hand slid down Levi’s fingers and pulled them up. “Your goal here isn't to crush the strings, but rather,” he plucked Levi’s forefinger and brought it down, the soft pad flat against the string, “to press them down, just like this. Your grip should be firm but light. Also, this will ease the tension in your fingers.”

    Levi nodded, expression neutral, and flicked his head to the side, wriggling his hand until Erwin let go of it.

“Alright, got it.”

“Good. As for the other,” he resumed as he moved around, this time placing his hand under Levi’s right elbow, “try to loosen up a bit. Your muscles are too stiff. It’s all about finding the right balance between steadiness,” he led Levi’s forearm down for the bow to meet with the strings, “and flexibility,” he finished as he gently pushed to the side, making the cello ring a poised, powerful note. “Just like that.”

    Levi’s arm twitched, knuckles white at the edges. Erwin leaned back.

“Now,” Erwin walked away and fumbled through piles of yellow score papers scattered on top of the closed lid of the piano. He picked one up and turned to Levi, one eyebrow raised as he remembered their last conversation. “Do you know how to read a music sheet?”

    Levi wrinkled his nose with a slight ducking of his head.

“Not really, no.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured, walking around the shiny instrument and sitting behind it. “Do you think you can replicate the melodies I’m about to play?”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbled, as deadpan and unenthusiastic as ever.

    Erwin ran his fingers down the keys, warming them up, and looked up to Levi, giving him an inviting nod as he played a short, easy tune. Levi frowned, eyes intense on Erwin, before placing his fingers around the neck and ringing out a reluctant answer. He wasn’t so far off, Erwin reckoned, and he played it again, this time indicating Levi how to place his fingers. He nodded to everything said to him, quick to change whatever Erwin was assessing, swallowing his words with an everlasting scowl: thoughtful rather than the annoyed, irritated one he usually sported. They played quietly, not exchanging more words than necessary, letting their instruments speak instead, a back a forth conversation, low and deep against crisp and clear.

    The rich rumble of cello notes seeped into Erwin’s chest like sweet honey, drowning the now distant memories of the disastrous date with Rose and his earlier catering of self-loathing. Right now, everything was about the air swirling with ringing profusion, wholesome and mellow.

    It quickly occurred to him that this harmony buzzed through Levi too, whose movements grew more velvety the more melodies they went through.

    Heat swelling in his chest, Erwin sat back, hand hovering above the keys, seeking Levi’s eyes. They were quick to respond, and Erwin’s lips pulled up at the corners.

“That was really good. How did it feel for you?”

    Levi squinted his eyes, lips pressed together, not without a slight wince.

“Not bad.”

“Shall we indulge in something a bit more entertaining now?”

    Levi raised an eyebrow. Erwin smirked and lowered his head back to the keyboard.

“Do you know Schubert’s _Arpeggione and Piano Sonata_ in A minor?” He asked, shuffling through a pile of music sheets.

“I’m sorry, what?”

    Erwin huffed a satisfied laugh.

“You’ve probably heard it before, but, this is actually the answer I was hoping. Let’s hear what you will make of it then.”

    Levi’s chin tilted up, a flicker of light passing through his pupils.

“Oh,” his voice was full of challenge, “bring it on then.”

    Erwin smiled and pressed his fingers down, opening the melody with a light hand. Levi closed his eyes, rocking from side to side, taking it in, and finally brought his bow back to the strings. The first few notes where more or less following the actual score, but soon enough, strayed to something new. It almost threw Erwin off balance, and he doubled his focus so he wouldn’t lose his own lines. It was clear that Levi didn't mind playing whatever went through his head, but Erwin had long lost that confidence to steer away from safe paths himself.

    It took Erwin a few measures before trusted his hand enough to raise his gaze again, resting it on the small, dark figure before him, the same one he had accidentally walked into weeks ago in the middle of a deserted shop, carefree and sailing to the hazardous flow of music. It cut Erwin’s breath short, to witness it again now, how easily the bow danced in his hand, and despite a few hiccups here and there, the sounds were ringing with sheer spontaneity, soaring high and virtuous. This candour of someone who had nothing but his instincts to rely on had been the reward Erwin sought with this practice, and now his heart was too big for his chest.

    It came to an end way too soon, and Erwin only had himself to blame for sticking to the score so stubbornly. Levi threaded a few more notes from the cello, making the last one vibrate down to a whisper that reverberated long after being reduced to silence. They both remained still, frozen within the sacred void that followed, channeling their breaths and minds back where they belonged.

    Slowly, quietly, Levi stood up, balancing the cello against the wall, and took a smoke out of the back pocket of his black jeans. Erwin wasn’t quite sure if he ought to say something, anything; the words were failing him, and he hoped that the lightness of the air filling the room was enough to carry his thoughts. Levi took the first drag on his cigarette, his head rolling towards Erwin, an almost imperceptible twitch at one corner of his lips. Erwin knew, somehow, that the message had indeed reached him.

    It flustered him, that warm reflection of sunlight in Levi’s eyes. There was something almost too intimate in the comfortable silence of the room and he itched to escape, even if for only a couple of minutes, to recollect himself. He rose suddenly, picking up the tray from the coffee table and muttered something about the tea turning cold.

    Levi was going through a second cigarette when Erwin finally stepped back in, sitting down on the armchair, legs crossed. Levi sat down on the sofa across him. The light and warm silence was thickening up with questions and answers that were not dared be spoken aloud. And it remained like so until Levi brought his cup to his lips, blowing cold air at it, and hissed a sharp wince as he took his first sip.

“Should I be worried about those bruises?”

    Levi scoffed, quickly bringing his cup away from his face, swallowing down loudly.

“Why in hell should you be worried? As far as I’m aware, we didn’t raise pigs together.”

    Erwin had always found that saying quite odd – it was such a singular and wholly French way of reminding someone of the boundaries of a relationship, boundaries over which Erwin had just stepped. Most of the times, the expression would tear a silent chuckle from Erwin, but right now, it only made him press his lips in a thin line.

“It’s just–”

“I didn’t question the fact that you looked like shit earlier. I’d appreciate if you returned the indifference.”

    Erwin rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, dipping his head down.

“As you wish.”

    The silence settled back between them, only disturbed by the clinking of porcelain against the wooden table, and the crackling of burning cigarette paper. It left Erwin shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and, after he’d had enough, decided to break it again, sending a genuine compliment Levi’s way about his progress.

“I wouldn’t call that progress. It was more or less just as usual. I just needed to…” he left his sentence hanging, and Erwin filled the blanks in his head: unwind and drown his temper in music.

    Erwin nodded with a hum. He knew the feeling too well.

“If I may, I’m curious to know how you managed to learn the cello without any knowledge of music theory.”

    Levi shrugged.

“I just messed around. Tried to replicate what I heard, how other people do it. I don’t know.”

“So you never had any proper guidance?”

“No. When you don’t have the time nor the money to spare, you just learn how to do shit on your own.”

    Erwin took the last sip from his tea and put his cup down slowly. It was the first time Levi had mentioned anything about his personal life, and Erwin was determined to draw more out of him, even it meant pushing his luck.

“How did you start playing then?”

    The deep frown that cast under charcoal bangs told Erwin he might not be so lucky after all. Levi sipped his tea with delicate motions and loud gurgles.

“There was a cello laying around my house, and one day I just gave it a try, that’s all.”

“How long have you been playing for?” It really felt like an interrogation now, Erwin realised, and wondered how long Levi was willing to play along.

“I’ve been on and off since I was a kid,” he tilted his head. “Mostly off.”

    Erwin didn’t miss the veil of discomfort creeping on Levi’s features, but the dismissing tone was hiding something he couldn’t help wanting to pursue.

“Did one of your parents play the cello then?”

    It was definitely the one question too many, for, as soon at the words left Erwin’s mouth, Levi’s face closed down definitely. He threw Erwin an unreadable, steely gaze, arching his eyebrows up. One of his hands left the teacup to fidget with the two golden rings at his lobe.

“As I said, we didn’t raise pigs together,” his voice was low, words slow, but there was no softness in them. Rather, something on akin to a threat.

    This was all Levi would leave him with – more questions and a deadly warning not to ask them – Erwin was sure of it. As on a cue, Levi gulped what remained of his tea and stood up, picking up his coat thrown over the armrest of the sofa and put it on, all in a silence that made shudders run down Erwin’s spine.

    He followed Levi to the front door nonetheless, with one last, foolishly desperate, attempt for reiteration. It felt like a déjà vu.

“Feel free to come back whenever, whether you just want to play or… drink some tea.”

    Levi snorted, standing back up after tying his shoelaces.

“Trust me Blondie, I’ll never come here for the tea, you’re terrible at it.”

    Erwin couldn’t help a smile at that.

“Then feel free to come back to teach me how to brew it properly. Call it an exchange of good service.”

    Levi let out a dry, short laugh.

“Yeah, alright.”

    The next moment he was gone, door slammed shut behind his fleeting figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter: 
> 
> \- [Schubert - Arpeggione & Piano sonata in A minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S85T_98K2VM)


	4. CODA - chapter iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so.  
> First, I'd like to apologise for taking so long to release this chapter, I've never struggled so much to write something in my life and I began to think the day I'd publish it would never come. That being said, ch5 should come out very, very soon~  
> Secondly... I'm an idiot. I was so eager to start releasing this story that I did so BEFORE I did some of the most important bits of research, and I realised a few weeks ago that I picked the wrong war for Erwin. It really does not change anything story-wise, but I had to go ahead and edit some very minor bits of the first 3 chapters to fit the change. The biggest thing it changed is the year this story takes place, so I guess now it's happening in 1986 instead of 1989. But that's all, so there is absolutely no need for you to go back and read those chapters again. So yeah, sorry, I'm just a big ol' idiot :D
> 
> Now that we've got that out of the way, enjoy the chapter, and thank again to my beta-readers [Melody_Of_The_River](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Of_The_River/pseuds/Melody_Of_The_River) and [TheIndifferentDroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid) for their immense help and patience on this one. Go check them out and give them some love~

 

    Shivers ran down his spine with the soft thud of rustling fabric pooling down at his feet. December’s chill was chiming down to the marrow of his bones, raising the hairs uncomfortably so on the skin of his limbs covered with days of dry sweat and grime. He leaned to feel the water running down the bathtub faucet – cold still. He turned his head, eyes not searching for anything in particular as he waited, but when they found his reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t will himself to tear them away.

     There wasn’t so much gold in his hair now as there was dried, sunburnt wheat, crooked and bent in funny angles. The shadows under his eyes sank further than they usually did, and the creases around his mouth seemed deeper, too. Laughter lines, he thought with a roll of his eyes. If laughter alone was their trigger, then Erwin would still look no day older than seventeen. He shook his head and, passing his hand over his jaw to cover up the sight, rubbed the more-than-stubble against the tender skin of his palm.

“You’re a fucking mess.” Levi’s flat voice came back to him. Erwin could hardly resent his bluntness, for Levi had been downright kind with his words, Erwin thought as his eyes rested on his own through the mirror, with pity and disgust coating his blue irises.

    He walked the few steps to the sink, keeping his gaze down to pick up the razor, and stepped right into the bathtub, the steam now escaping the chipped enamel warm and inviting.

    The water that had gathered down the tub scorched at the soles of his feet. Instead of adding more cold water, Erwin simply flipped the switch over the faucet, and the water streamed from the showerhead instead, hitting his hair, face, shoulders like fire. He only stood there, eyes closed, engrossed in the odd need to run away from the burn and the want to let it consume him until he shed his skin like a snake.

    Erwin sat down with a sigh, and the force with which the water hit his back felt like gravel scraping his begrimed skin. His head fell down between his bent knees as he took in the sharp sting; the act of cleansing wasn’t meant to be an easy, comfortable process, and Erwin nestled ghosts and blood and salt in his every pore. It explained, partly, why he never felt like bothering to wash, sometimes for days, as they kept piling up through sweat and vivid nightmares: guilt and surrender.

    But Levi was here now to shake him away from a world that only existed behind closed curtains. It was a surprise, that it took so long for Levi to actually catch Erwin on a bad day, considering how often he had been standing inside the walls of Erwin’s apartment this past month. Erwin had been fine with ignoring Levi’s charged scorn and kept ruminating on his own dark thoughts, but Levi had been quick to call him out. “Go take a shower, you reek,” he had scowled with his nose scrunched up while his hands were already busy picking up the mess left on the sticky coffee table on which Erwin had been resting his bare feet for the past few hours, denting his heels with breadcrumbs.

    Erwin had become aware of Levi’s obsession – necessity – for cleanliness weeks prior, to Erwin’s great embarrassment. And in a peculiar way, this had stirred a shift in his understanding of Levi, and more so, his vindication towards the short, gloomy cellist.

    It had been several weeks ago, only a few after the first time Levi had sought – or, at least, willingly tolerated – Erwin’s presence and advice, at a time when Erwin deemed that inviting Levi to come back had been a severe mistake, for what had started as a good-natured invitation on Erwin’s side – an auspicious “feel free to come back whenever” –  had quickly escalated to Levi _quite literally_ showing up _whenever_ , without notice or intimation, either tittering in the cold on Erwin’s doorstep with a scowl, or startling him with long and loud outcries of the doorbell at the most random hours.

    And Erwin’s candid wish for a distraction, for Levi’s honest thread of a bow against cello string to rouse his heavy heart, had been rapidly crushed under the sharpness of Levi’s audacity. Blunt, bad-tempered amongst many other flaws, Levi was a man who did not have the slightest notion of personal space or timely convenience, and he had done nothing short of barging into Erwin’s home like it was conquered territory. It quickly pulled at Erwin’s already threadbare nerves with every icy stare, every spite and venom in his words, every crease of wrath nestled between the thin and dark eyebrows.

    It took a fortnight of this for Erwin to conclude that the few instances of shared music were not worth the hassle that enduring Levi’s presence was. When he did, however, instead of confronting Levi on his behaviour and telling the man off, Erwin simply fled with a slam of the front door, granting Levi’s victory over his tolerance.

    By the time Erwin had come back to his apartment where he’d left Levi alone for hours, he had put up dozens of scenarios in his head, all absurd but all scaringly plausible: that Levi had scavenged his place and robbed him of all his belongings, or he had already changed the locks and settled in for good.

    Suffice it to say, he had underestimated how many surprises Levi was still capable of, and whatever scenario Erwin had fathomed was nothing compared to what he found as he pushed the door open. It started with the strong smell of bleach and white vinegar assaulting his nostrils. Then came the sight of his shoes – all different pairs – neatly arranged and tucked under the console table, the usual clutter on which was now arranged in an orderly pile, and above it, each coat and jacket occupied a different hanger, instead of them just thrown on top of one another. Levi’s worn out woolen coat was hanging there too.

    Erwin had cautiously stepped forwards, astonished to find every corner, every surface his eyes could land on spotless, shining, and organised with an almost psychotic tidiness. And so Erwin laughed, both at the disbelief of the situation, and at himself for expecting – wishing – Levi to have taken advantage of his absence. When it died down, Erwin was only left with one emotion: utter embarrassment, for it seemed that Levi had occupied the past few hours cleaning _his_ flat from top to bottom. And the only explanation he’d been offered between his stammered apologies and thanks was “What do you mean it wasn’t _necessary_? I don’t know how you can even focus in this mess. I know I can’t, and if I’m going to have to spend hours here, then cleanliness is more than necessary.”

    Before Erwin had found the words to inform Levi that he had no obligation to be here in the first place, Levi had sat down near the cello and had demanded Erwin to take place at the piano so they could play together. Erwin had complied without another word, stunned and bewildered; Levi had never been the one to initiate to share his practice with Erwin. That alone was already enough to stir a new interest from Erwin, but when he had raised his gaze and found Levi so eerily serene, he urged himself to let go of his grudge against Levi and instead investigate this new, unwound side of him.

 

    Erwin raised his head with a strong inhale through his nose and reached his hand out to grab the bar of soap on the bathtub ledge. He was sure that he would need more than a simple lather to meet Levi’s standards, but set to work anyway. He was very aware of Levi’s presence on the other side of the wall, occupying the time by thoroughly erasing every trace of Erwin’s neurotic episode. He had tried to protest against it, but Levi’s only response had been to kick Erwin in the bathroom and slam the door behind him after repeating how filthy and disgusting he was.

    He smiled softly as his hand was actively rubbing the soap behind his pink neck which relaxed under a soothing scent of rosemary and the burning heat of the water. He was coming close to understanding Levi’s obsession with cleanliness; the weight of doom that had hindered his muscles tense was being flushed alongside the foamy water, and he was already breathing easier.

    Erwin had understood a great many things about Levi after what he referred to as the “cleaning incident”. The unexpected shift in behaviour had forced Erwin to stop silently whining about Levi’s angry, rude masquerade and had flooded him with the burning curiosity to look deeper. It occurred to Erwin that it wasn’t that he had forgotten how to read people, unlike what he made himself believe ever since meeting Levi, but rather, that Levi’s character was written in a language that he had yet to decipher. He’d never doubted that there was a lot more to him than met the eye; the spark of something looming behind his crudeness had been what had drawn Erwin in in the first place, he’d simply been too distracted to see it.

    It had not been an easy task, to draw a more accurate picture of Levi that wasn’t just “annoying, angry little brat who had falsely charmed me with his honest playing”. As November went on and merged with December, Erwin had still not learnt a great deal about Levi. Despite being such a loud person, Levi was very scarce with his words, and Erwin was cautious about his enquiries, not wanting to come off as nosy. But the sharp tongue sometimes slipped bits of information that fed Erwin’s curiosity.

     Erwin remembered the first time Levi had uttered more than a couple words about his personal life. They had been sitting together on the sofa after a cathartic practice session, where Erwin had slowly begun to let loose and allowed himself to improvise the notes of the piano to match Levi’s, letting him take the lead. Erwin had been surprised to see the clock read that it was already quite well into the afternoon, explaining the low rumble of his empty stomach.

 “I’m starving,” he started, sitting up and elbow rested on his knees. “Maybe we ought to accompany our tea with actual food this time?”

     Levi shrugged but stood up to lead the way to the kitchen without waiting for Erwin – he’d already made a habit of going there uninvited after claiming that Erwin was too much of a lost cause when it came to brewing tea and that he ought to take care of it himself. Erwin joined him before the open fridge and took out random ingredients to make sandwiches as Levi busied himself with cutting a fresh baguette open. It was efficient this way, Levi spreading butter down the bread and Erwin filling it with slices of cheese, lettuce and ham. Well, it was, until Levi grabbed his wrist as he was about to add a piece of ham onto the second sandwich.

“I don’t eat meat,” he urged coldly.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

     Levi yanked Erwin’s hand away and closed the sandwich quickly. Erwin watched him lean against the counter and take the first bite unceremoniously.

 “What?” Levi mumbled with his mouth full.

“I… wasn’t expecting that.”

     Levi swallowed and let out a raspy sigh.

 “It’s just– Isabelle made a whole scene the first time I cooked her something. Tears and snot and everything.” Wrinkles formed on the bridge of Levi’s nose. “She kept rambling about the poor animals and all that. So I just… gave it to the cats and never bought meat ever again.”

     Erwin’s eyebrows were knitted tightly together as he tried to fill the many holes left in Levi’s narrative to make sense of it. When the silence lingered for too long, Levi sighed again.

 “I live with her.”

     Erwin’s face untied at once, his jaw going slack.

 “I didn’t know you did.”

     Levi shrugged.

 “It just happened,” he said, pausing to gauge Erwin’s interest. “She had been begging in the streets for weeks. I found her in the basement of a building I clean one day, so I just... picked her up, forced her into the shower and fed her. She never quite left my couch after that.”

     Levi shifted the weight on his legs and looked to the window. He picked a small piece of gold crust between his fingers and brought it to his mouth.

 “Actually she stole my bed and I’m the one left to sleep on the bloody thing.”

     Erwin chuckled lightly and finally took his own sandwich in his hand.

 “This is very selfless of you.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m sure she’s very grateful that someone helped her back on her feet,” Erwin assured softly, hoping to break the discomfort that had nestled on Levi’s features.

“Grateful huh? She started to boss me around and forced me to stop eating meat, to adopt _another_ cat and even to accompany her to charity work because she’s too socially inept to go on her own. All of that without even paying for rent. Who does she think I am? A fucking saint? She _better_ be grateful,” he spat out, but Erwin couldn’t find venom in his voice. On the contrary, it felt more like some kind of fatherly pride. 

     Under Levi’s squinted, accusing eyes, Erwin smiled and sank his teeth into the bread. Except this time, instead of feeling irritated by Levi’s usual disdain, it made him smile even wider. He understood, by now, that his continuous frown and sharp irreverence were but a façade behind which stood a benevolent nature. Much like a cat, Erwin thought, and he found it funny that Levi had always been so keen to compare Isabelle to a cat when the man itself fitted the description more accurately; always pretending to be around by accident and watching over the rest of the world like it was made up of nothing but inconvenience, while in reality, all he secretly looked for was a bit of care and attention. Not that Levi would ever admit to it.

 “So, you have cats then?” Erwin entertained with a beaming grin.

 

     Their exchange that day had cleared more than one mystery, explaining both Levi’s efficiency at cleaning, and the reason why he seemed to always be free during afternoons – as he later slipped that his work as a janitor usually took place the wee hours of the morning. 

     It came as no surprise then, that Erwin pieced together that Levi had dropped out of high school, as much as it bothered him to belittle Levi’s line of work. But despite his obvious lack of eloquence, vocabulary or grammar – Erwin’s French was actually much more proper than Levi’s – the steel of his eyes carried intelligence and quick wits. He was simply lacking in education in every sense, but there was an eagerness poorly concealed behind indifference every time Erwin told Levi about subjects he knew little about. Erwin had been quick to catch on it and drive on monologues about the technical finesse of Schubert’s compositions, the endless stories told by musical keys – which he refrained from telling Levi he always used the saddest ones when he played – the technical skeleton of a cello and its marvelous architecture, but also, about the plain taunt of Rimbaud’s poetry, the demotic beauty that laid in Vermeer’s brushstrokes, and the despair in Van Gogh’s, or any other subject that had caught Erwin’s interest in the papers or at the radio. Levi remained mostly silent, and it would have been easy to mistake it with boredom if it wasn't for the sparks glimmering in Levi's eyes.

 

     Erwin laughed through his nose as he turned down the faucet of his now half-filled tub to task himself with shaving. The first notes of Debussy’s _Nocturnes_ began to echo, coming from the high end Hi-fi system in the living-room. He had taught Levi well, Erwin thought with a smirk, and he hummed softly to the melody when he brought the blade against the prickly skin of his throat. Levi had indeed been attentive to his long, passionate ramblings, and it sat warm in the pit of Erwin’s stomach. 

     And it was little moments like that where Erwin was glad his patience had not snapped too soon, that he had given Levi the benefit of doubt, like a pull to him he couldn’t quite explain despite the first chaotic moments of their encounters. It may have been loneliness or boredom or compassion – either way, now he was grateful that he allowed someone like Levi to scratch at the surface, to barge into his life like a storm. Levi might indeed not be a saint, but Erwin needed the distraction, needed to have someone to listen to his stories and stare into his soul. Someone to fill the emptiness with bare notes rich with profusion, cadenzas lost as soon as their echo died, and Erwin reveled in Levi’s very little knowledge of music theory, for his instincts were those of a virtuose, unbiased and pure.

     And so, Erwin decided, this was a good start: a new friendship. Although, he wasn’t certain that it was the right word for what they had, he had yet to find a better one. Teacher and student, colleagues, acquaintances, none of these could sound more wrong to describe the peculiar intimacy and bare insight the two men shared.

     Erwin still found himself wondering, sometimes, about the bruises and cuts Levi wore on his pale skin often enough to be worrying, about the two golden rings at his left ear he kept fidgeting with whenever he showed hesitation, or the heavy bag he always brought with him if he visited on Fridays, the distress and anger in the ash eyes, about the increasing amount of time he spent at Erwin’s, and how it never really looked like Levi wanted to be there in the first place, but he still kept coming, or about the simple fact that a man such as Levi – in all his simplicity, insensitivity and temper –  took such an interest in cello in the first place. Erwin was seeking answers to questions he did not know how to ask, for he couldn't place where their boundaries lay. Was it really a friendship? Or a pragmatic relationship built upon mutual interest? Or was it the pull of two lonely, tired souls trying to fill the void with one another? Erwin only knew this: Levi had been the only person he had not bothered hiding his true nature from – or rather, had been unable to – and the fact that Levi was still there, at this very moment, even after catching more than a glimpse into Erwin’s twisted and tormented self, forcing him to a bath and clearing the ruins he’d left in overflowing ashtrays and dozens of half-finished glasses of wine. Levi was a kind of blessing he did not deserve.

  
    When Erwin finally stepped out of the bathtub, he watched the dirty water flush down the drain and with it, drowned were the menacing ships that had been chasing him for days on end. His reflection in the mirror wasn’t one of an Adonis, but it was no longer the one of an Atlas. There was but a man, a mere mortal, standing in front of him, and Erwin welcomed him back keenly.

     He found Levi in the living room as the third act of the _Nocturnes_ began, leaned on his tiptoes, a fluffy duster in his hand that barely reached the topmost row of a bookcase.

 “Why do you even own so many books? Seems to me like nothing but a freaking hassle to dust.”

     Erwin smiled and stepped closer to Levi.

 “You should take a few then,” he suggested smugly.

“I don’t care about reading.”

“No? That’s a shame.” Erwin’s fingers slid over the spine of a few books laid before him. “It’s a good way to pass time.”

“You only say that because you’ve got too much damn time on your hands.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure I’m the only one here who has that problem,” Erwin said, an eyebrow raised at Levi.

“ _Tch_.”

     Levi finally lowered himself back on his heels with a light huff. He rested the duster on his shoulder and with his other hand randomly pulled out a few books and pushed them back, with the sulk of a child who had just been forced to do something he did not want to. Erwin was genuinely surprised when Levi actually picked one up and turned it around in his hand with a suspicious, almost disgusted stare.

 “ _L’Étranger_ by Camus?” Erwin read. “That’s an interesting choice. A classic, and an easy read. It should be perfect for a beginner like you.”

“Never heard of it before.”

“No? That first sentence is pretty famous, I’m surprised you haven’t.”

     Levi sucked on his tongue and opened the book to the first page, his expression shifting to something sinister as he did. “ _Aujourd’hui, maman est morte._ ” Mother died today. It seemed to tickle Levi’s interest, as he turned the book around to read the summary. The more he read through it, the more the features of his face distorted into an odd expression, a medley between a smirk and a scowl, as if he had just heard a really bad joke. Levi hummed and threw the book to his canvas duffle bag next to the armchair.

     Levi swiped the duster over the books one last time, for good measure, and discarded it on the now clean coffee table. He slouched down the armchair and pulled yet another cigarette out of his pack. Erwin followed him, lighting up the lamp next to the sofa; the night was already starting to grow, and, as he looked over the clouds of smoke gathering around Levi’s face, he felt the emptiness and sorrow of his spirit swirling away with it. Selfishly wishing for Levi to stay around a little longer, Erwin offered him a glass of wine. Levi tapped the tip of his cigarette down the ashtray and chewed on his lower lip.

 “Not if you don’t have anything better than that red wine I threw out earlier. How can you even drink that? It tastes and feels like three animals died in my mouth.”

     Erwin laughed lightly.

 “You must be the first French person I’ve met who doesn’t like red wine.” Levi shrugged. “Fortunately, I believe I have a bottle of Sauternes lying around. Would that be better?”

“Yes, that’s better,” he replied with a poorly hidden glee.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d have such a sweet tooth.”

“Fuck off.”

     Erwin laughed again and exited the room to fetch the bottle of white wine from the kitchen. 

 

\- - -

 

    Erwin hurried through the front door of his apartment, letting it slam shut behind him as he wriggled out of his drenched scarf and coat, all the while fumbling with his feet to get rid of his shoes. He had been caught in a merciless rain shower, and the few minutes walk from the underground station to his place had been enough to have him drip a wet trail behind him. He hung his outwear on the hook and removed his wet socks, sighing in relief as he did so. He pushed his hair back, wiped the water streams from his face, and shoved his hand in all the pockets of his coat to save their content from ruin. Alongside his wallet, tube card, lighter and a few crumpled receipts and mints wraps, he found a small note, the writing on it smudged into blueish, blurry lines and barely legible. “ _Sophie (2nd clarinet replacement from last week)_ ” followed by a phone number. Erwin’s eyebrows tied together. While he certainly did not remember Hange giving him the paper, it was indisputably her sloppy handwriting. She must have placed it in his pocket when he was not looking.

     Erwin really ought to ask her to stop. He had made it clear, years ago, that he was not looking for a relationship, but he had never been quite bothered by Hange’s actions. There was a shy pleasure in the way she managed to find so many potential dates, whether they truly were interested in Erwin or simply gave Hange their number so she would leave them alone – it was probably the latter, Erwin thought. Regardless of the reasons, it gave him a glimmer of hope that he would find someone out there who would hold the same magnetic power and soothing lightness as Marie used to. 

     But his catastrophic attempt with Rose had reminded him that there was something highly uncomfortable about allowing anyone to get under his skin, to see how fake he was, all hollowness and lack of empathy behind a mask of deference. There was a superficial element to it too: not wanting anyone to get onto his skin either, for the absolute ugliness of his body was a sight even he himself couldn’t bear in the slightest. There was no need for Erwin to put himself through such trials simply for the reward of the soft caress of a delicate woman’s hand and the comforting scent of flowery fragrance.

     Erwin crushed the paper in his fist and put it aside with the rest of the trash he had taken out of his coat, and hurried to the bathroom to grab a towel. Halfway through his short journey, the phone rang. He quickly took the towel, threw it over his dripping hair, and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Oi.”

“Oh, good evening, Levi,” he greeted, his voice higher pitched than usual – he had given up on the idea that Levi would _actually_ call him one day.

“You doing anything tonight?” he sounded mildly uncomfortable, but perhaps it was only because Erwin was not used to hear him with the robotic distortion.

“I am not.”

“Good. Isabelle went to get tickets for a shitty movie. I did not want to go, but somehow, this idiot managed to get not one, not two, but three goddamn tickets.”

“How did she not notice she was paying for three tickets?”

     Levi grunted loudly.

 “She’s socially incapable, I’m sure that idiot did not dare to tell the cashier about the mistake. She just came back home and started crying about it. Fucking brat.” Levi exhaled heavily, the sound filled with cigarette smoke. “So, in any case, it’d be a waste of money not to use the tickets. I already asked Farlan but he’s busy. Some kind of bullshit date or something, I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t Isabelle have friends she’d like to invite instead?”

“No.” Levi paused, as to emphasise on the sharpness of his answer. “She’s the one who suggested I invited you, actually.”

     Erwin cocked an eyebrow.

 “Did she?”

“I just said that, yes.”

     Erwin took a moment of reflection to debate whether or not he should ask if Levi didn’t have any other friends to invite to the cinemas, but Erwin found the answer before he even finished the thought.

 “What kind of gentleman would I be if I turned down such a lovely invitation. I’ll be there.”

“Alright, meet us at Gare de l’Est at seven-thirty then. Oh, and also…”

“Yes?”

“She’s not into you.”

     Erwin let out a genuine laugh at that, and before he had the time to recover, Levi had already hung up.

 

     Isabelle was beaming with excitement when the three of them walked out of the theater in the rather busy streets despite the late hour – the rainy clouds had left, and with them the cutting winds, making the air rather enjoyable for mid-December. Levi had taken the lead, walking quickly despite his short legs, leaving Erwin to listen to the younger girl ramble about the romantic comedy they just saw – the kind of bad, cheesy one. Erwin suspected Levi was doing it on purpose, to avoid having to put up with Isabelle’s vivid monologue about love. 

“What about you, Monsieur Erwin?” she asked suddenly, leaning closer to Erwin and bumping her shoulder against his arm, “Do you have a loved one?”

“No,” he replied too quickly and sharply. “Not anymore,” he added slowly so as not to upset the girl with his dismissing tone, only then realising it would only spark more interest from her.

     And so it did.

 “Oh, no! What happened?”

“We just… We weren’t made for one another,” he replied coldly, but forced a smile looking down to her.

“That’s sad.” Isabelle nodded with a frown. “I like love stories in movies better, it’s always cute and easy and they always end up happy in the end.”

“That’s what movies are for.”

     She fell silent and picked up the pace to catch up with Levi who was already halfway through crossing the road.

 “Do you think you can still get back to your lady?” she asked once Erwin had joined them on the other side of the road.

     He opened his mouth, gathering the will not to come across as rude. He caught the sight of Levi at the corner of his eyes, who turned his head back slightly towards them with a scowl aimed at Isabelle.

 “Don’t worry about it, Isabelle,” Erwin advised. “Things are better off this way.”

     She pouted.

 “That’s no fun. There’s never been any cute real love story in my life.”

“That’s because they’re not a thing, idiot,” Levi muttered, looking ahead, but Erwin could easily picture him rolling his eyes at that moment.

“And Levi there,” she added, speaking louder with a cheekiness in her voice, “is the most frigid man Mother Nature ever birthed, so that’s not him who’s gonna provide me with a cute love story.”

“Oi, snotty brat, watch your mouth.”

“What?” she giggled, happy with herself from Levi’s reaction. “Are you gonna tell me that’s not true?”

     Levi slowed down to turn around, eyes squinted with the glow of a threat.

 “How about you just stop bothering everyone with this shit?” He threw a quick apologetic glance at Erwin.

“The only person I’m bothering with this is you, because you’re jealous that you’ve never been in love!”

     Levi’s face relaxed, eyebrows arched up and eyelids half-closed, giving his features the most uninterested expression Erwin had seen. 

 “Am I bothering you with this, Monsieur Erwin?”

“I…” Erwin tried to come up with something else than a straight up ‘yes’, as he feared this might kill the girl’s glee. He shook his head, and before he could say another word, Isabelle walked up to Levi.

“See? He doesn’t mind.”

     Levi snorted loudly.

 “Sure,” he said dryly as he pulled a pack of Camel out of his back pocket and busied himself with lighting a cigarette.

“So, Monsieur Erwin. Have you had many girlfriends?”

     Erwin took a deep breath in to chase the irritation scratching at his throat.

“Not really, no.”

“Only this one lady then?”

     Erwin frowned. He was regretting not taking the opportunity to tell her to stop her interrogations when he had been given the chance.

“What’s her name?” she kept on asking, oblivious to Erwin’s palpable discomfort.

“Oi, Isabelle,” Levi suddenly called, “Want some waffles?” he added, pointing the orange tip of his cigarette to their left.

     Erwin followed Levi’s gesture, to find that he was pointing at a small gathering of wooden lodges, their roofs decorated with fake snow and glowing under red and green lights in the middle of a narrow plaza. As soon as Isabelle figured out they were indeed walking past a Christmas market, she jumped excitedly, both her hands clasped around Levi’s shoulders. He pulled a few notes out of his pockets and handed them to her.

 “You guys want something too?” she asked as she was now trotting backwards, holding the money firmly against her chest.

“Mulled wine?” Levi suggested to Erwin.

“Sounds perfect,” he agreed with a sigh of relief, thankful Levi had found something to distract Isabelle with.

     Erwin reached for the inside pocket of his coat to retrieve his wallet, but Levi’s hand closed firmly around his wrist. He opened his mouth to protest, but Levi’s deadly stare made the words die at the tip of his tongue.

 “Alright, I’ll be right back!” 

     And with that, Isabelle ran off, crossing the street without looking.

 “Sorry about her,” Levi started, watching her run with a frown. 

“Don’t be.”

“I tried to teach her some manners, but really, I think she’s been raised by a horde of monkeys.”

     Erwin chuckled lightly.

“Don’t worry about it. She’s a really nice girl.”

“She is,” he agreed with a fond softness in his voice, “she just doesn’t know when to stop. And she definitely has zero notion of personal space. She’s a handful.”

“And I think you’re doing a really good job with her.”

     Levi snorted and stomped his cigarette under the sole of his boot.

 “I’m definitely not the most qualified for this. I should have handed her to social services or something, but she was already eighteen when I took her in. They would probably have put her right back in the streets.”

“What you did for her is already a lot more than most people would have. You should give yourself more credit.”

     Levi shrugged, turning away slightly.

 “All I did was put a roof over her head. Stop making it sound like I’m virtuous.”

     Erwin tilted his head, but his thoughts were interrupted by Isabelle, rushing back to them with three paper cups balanced between her hands and a huge waffle stuffed in her mouth, whipped cream smudged up to her nose. Levi and Erwin relieved her by taking their respective cups, which Levi held with both his hands, burying his face in the warm and sweet steam. He took a cautious sip and let out a satisfied groan.

 “Now, that’s the only way to make red wine taste somewhat decent.”

     Erwin smiled and brought the cinnamon and citrus drink to his lips. It was way too sugary for his own taste, but he did not comment on it. He raised his eyes to Isabelle, who was struggling to chew on the big bite she had taken from her waffle, the whole lower side of her face now covered in cream too. Erwin felt a soft, comforting bubbling settle in his stomach at the sight.

 “So, what’s your favourite love story then, Isabelle?” he asked cheerfully.

     As she began chirping loudly, her mouth still full, Erwin saw Levi watching from the side with a contented expression of approval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter: 
> 
> \- [Nocturnes - Claude Debussy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spXwXLqFLvs)


	5. CODA - chapter v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, 9.3k of grumpy old men banter to redeem myself for the delay of ch4~
> 
> Thanks to [TheIndifferentDroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid) for beta-reading this one at the speed of light!

 

 

    He shouldn't have been so keen to accept Isabelle’s invitation; not that he wanted to, but he had not been able to refuse the sheer glee sparkling in her eyes. A little less than a week ago, the night of the start of the Christmas holidays, Erwin thought he could pay back for the evening spent at the theater by bringing her and Levi to the homely concert held by the music school Historia attended at the Sainte-Thérèse Chapelle. Erwin had no obligation to escort her in the first place, but with her father out of the country for business, he felt like it was his responsibility to care for the otherwise lonely teenager. His involvement in Historia’s life greatly exceeded what was sensible for a simple cello teacher, Erwin was aware, but the circumstances behind their rapport, at least on Erwin’s side, had never been based on professional interest. Yet, there was only so much Erwin could accomplish to help the frail girl – a twisted compensation to try and buy redemption, to offer Christa the life she deserved by devoting himself to Historia’s well-being – and deemed he’d try yet another gamble by introducing her to Isabelle with the hope she could flare up Historia’s everlasting melancholy with her buoyant aura.

    It had been the right hunch, as both girls hit it off pretty quickly, despite their obvious differences in character. Isabelle, in all her extravagance, had managed to tear more than one laugh from Historia – a sound that Erwin had never had the luck of hearing before. He had hoped that his deed at redeeming himself for his past infamies had eased whatever greater power was watching over him. If not, then at least, the way Levi looked at the two girls with a veil of relief and fondness filling his usual dark features, had been enough to ease Erwin. 

    Perhaps it was what had made him so quick to agree when, between two mouthfuls of leftover bread from the Eucharist she had shamelessly stolen, Isabelle had suggested to Erwin to come and spend Christmas Eve with her and Levi. The only plan he had was to waste the day smoking his lungs black and drowning his misery in strong liquor, lonely and cold, like he had for the past four years – a plan Erwin actually anticipated to carry through. But Isabelle was such a bubbly ray of sunshine breaking through the grey weather, and Erwin found himself unable to refuse. Surprisingly, Levi had not tried to talk her – or Erwin – out of it, and had only uttered dismissively that Erwin better not expect anything grand from it.

“If that’s a proper Christmas party you want, forget it. I just make the brat some food and then she insists we play board games until she ends up flipping the board because she’s a sore loser. Oh, and speaking of food,” he added, side-eyeing Isabelle sloppily munching on holy food with pride, “forget about your traditional Christmas feasts or what. It’s just lame, meatless dishes because the brat won’t eat anything else.”

 

    But now that Erwin was in front of Levi and Isabelle’s building, he bitterly regretted agreeing to this. The prospect of running back home to go through his initial plans had never seemed so appealing. However, getting there had already been more trouble than it should have – the unexpected thick layer of snow covering the streets on which he slipped more times than what was reasonable for a grown man, the overcrowded tube station due to the lack of buses in such weather, the delays that came with it, and then, figuring out exactly which street to take, turning around the neighbourhood three times before finding his way – and backtracking to hide back home only meant more trouble.

    Sharp shivers crawled down his spine when he looked up again, shedding the thin layer of snow that had piled up on his hair and shoulders. Shivers which were all but induced by the cold; he had beads of sweat running down his temples and the inside of his palm was clammy with dread. His eyes immediately fell onto the cause of his current plight: a handful of letters lost on an endless list of name tags. _Ackerman_.

    He had not expected to find the name again, a name he knew too well, that had been looping endlessly in his mind for years alongside many others and forced himself to tear his gaze away from it to search for Levi’s in the list instead. But he quickly realised two things: that he actually had no idea what Levi’s surname was, and that the label that read  “Ackerman L. / Magnolia I.” had to be the one connected to his doorbell. 

    An absurd feeling of resentment towards Levi stirred at Erwin’s guts. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and definitely not Levi’s; a mere coincidence that should not make him feel so upset – betrayed. After all, finding a girl who looked and acted exactly like another one of his subordinates seemed a lot more far fetched than reading _that_ name again. Yet, he couldn’t help the crippling sensation of being trapped, the walls of the cage closing in onto him, hiding dark shadows and hungry fangs. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but he felt like he should have known about Levi’s name months ago. 

    His finger had been hovering over the button next to the tag for so long that he might as well have turned into a snowman by now. As foolish as it sounded, he simply could not bring himself to actually press it. He huffed loudly, a mirthless laugh followed by another shudder. When had he become such a coward? But more so, when had he become so resilient to the idea of being one?

    It was unfair, how easily weeks of good behaviour, of redemption, of forgetfulness were overthrown. Unfair, yes, but duly earned.

    Erwin leaned forwards, despite all his senses screaming to run, and the next moment, the tip of his forefinger crashed hard on the button. The biting cold of the metal against his skin snapped him back to reality – away from the Falklands’ coastline – the boiling fever of torment evaporating as quickly as it came.

“Monsieur Erwin?” the distorted yet cheerful voice of Isabelle erupted from the speakers.

“Yes. Good afternoon Isabelle.”

    The squeal that followed pierced painfully at Erwin’s ear-drums.

“Come in, come in! It’s the last floor and there’s no lift. Hope you’ve got stamina”

    There was a loud buzzing sound, and Erwin pushed the front door open. He climbed the seven flights of stairs with a growing strain in his calves and had to stop to catch his breath once he reached the last step. The open door at his right was letting out a delicious smell of something buttery baking. Isabelle was leaning on the door frame, her red hair messily tied in two high pigtails, dressed in an odd arrangement of bright colours, down to her mismatched socks. Erwin couldn’t help the smile that spread on his chapped lips.

    She gestured him to come in, took the bags from Erwin’s hand and closed the door behind him. He looked up as he leaned to untie his shoes, well aware that he was now in Levi’s territory and the man would not hesitate to throw him out for dirtying the floor. He took a second to throw a curious glance at the – very – small living-room. The floorboards creaked and could use a generous coat of varnish, the walls and ceiling were tainted yellow and painted with humidity stains, engulfing the disparate collection of furniture, materials, styles and colours that made Erwin feel like he just stepped into a thrift store – and he suspected that was exactly where it all came from – as everything looked like it had been through several generations before landing in Levi's hands, patched and fixed with whatever tools he'd had at hand at the time. The space had been used up to its maximum potential, each shelf packed, each corner used to fit two lives in so little space. But despite the crowded sight, nothing was sticking out, each item was neatly arranged and not a single speck of dust dared to float in the air.

“Don’t bother,” Levi’s voice snapped, and soon after, the man appeared from behind a wall that Erwin assumed lead to an open kitchen when he saw the black napron tied around his narrow waist, the knife in one hand and a peeled potato in the other. “I’m sending you out again,” he added at Erwin’s questioning look, still half crouching, fingers at the knot of his shoelaces. “Farlan’s train got canceled because of the snow, so he’s coming over too, and we’re desperately short on food. Can I trust you to take care of that with the brat?”

    Erwin sat back up, baffled but not surprised to find out that Levi was as bad a host as he was a guest.

“Sure.”

“Good.” He turned to Isabelle who was standing near the sofa – which took up most of the space in the room. “You got the list or have you already lost it?”

“Yeah, I got it, grumpy old man,” she stuck her tongue out and walked over to Erwin to pick up a pair of rain boots. “You can come in while I’m getting ready. Don’t be scared just because he’s holding a knife, I’m sure he won’t kill you on the spot even if you walk in with your shoes on.”

    Erwin chuckled with a nod and took a cautious step forwards. Levi was watching, wiping his hands on a towel with a slowness that made him look like he was already planning seven different ways to take Erwin out. In the end, he simply shrugged and turned away to clear his hands, and from there, Erwin could clearly see the very small but effectively arranged kitchen in the back corner.

    His scrutiny was interrupted by something bumping in his shin. He looked down to find a fluffy orange cat rubbing the side of its face against his leg with a loud purr.

“Hey, hello you,” he whispered, crouching to pet the cat on its head.

    From the lower perspective, Erwin also noticed a dark, compact silhouette under the coffee table, observing him with one cagey, yellow eye. The right eye socket seemed to be but a hollow cavity. Erwin raised his hand towards the black cat, which immediately flattened back against the wall.

“She hates people,” Levi’s voice came from above. “Smart thing,” he added with a sense of pride as he kneeled down to scratch the black ball of mistrust under the chin, which did not budge despite Levi’s earlier words.

“Her name’s Darjeeling. Found her stuck in a gutter a couple years ago. Her eye was pretty messed up so the vet took it out,” Levi explained, his fingers now running behind the cat’s ears.

“Well, I’m just going to say hello from afar then.”

“You’re wiser than you look, Blondie.”

“What about this one?” Erwin asked, looking down to the orange cat who had taken his hand hostage between its front paws and kept bumping its cold nose against the tip of Erwin’s fingers.

“Oh yeah, that’s, hm...” Whatever Levi mumbled after that, Erwin did not catch.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

    Levi cleared his throat.

“Escargot,” he delivered quickly, quietly, and crossed his arms as soon as the syllables left his mouth.

    Erwin could not stop himself for snorting loudly and tried to conceal it with a light cough.

“Is that so?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Levi scorned, a slight redness at his cheeks. “That’s the brat’s cat. A stupid name for a stupid cat that matches its stupid owner.”

    The next moment, something bright hit Levi square in the nose. The small stuffed, pink mouse landed at his feet, and the orange cat – _Escargot_ – rushed to catch it.

“ _You_ ’re stupid!” Isabelle yelled from the other side of the room.

    Levi clicked his tongue loudly, mindlessly rubbing at the bridge of his nose, but he seemed unable to hide the fond smile pulling at his lips. It almost caught Erwin off-guard, to see him so serene, and he decided it was a sight worth cherishing.

“Okay Monsieur Erwin, I’m ready to go,” Isabelle called, her last words muffled by the heavy scarf she was wrapping around her head.

    The two of them headed out after Erwin scratched Escargot’s chin one last time. The short walk to the shop turned out to be as much as a challenge as the few moments Erwin had spent outside earlier, and after slipping on the icy ground more than once, he finally managed to fully lose his balance and landed on his backside. Isabelle laughed sheepishly and helped him up, not without asking him countless times if he was alright. Except for his pride, Erwin reckoned, nothing seemed broken, and he was quick to blame his lack of balance on his missing arm.

    They made it to the small grocery shop without further incident. Erwin followed Isabelle around as she was reading the list of things they needed to buy, and stopped in front of a large array of fresh vegetables.

“You know, I’m really glad you introduced me to Historia, Monsieur Erwin,” she started as she picked up a few leak branches. “We went to study together at the library the other day, it was pretty cool.”

“Did you? I’m glad that the two of you are getting along.”

“We are. She’s really nice, she has so many stories to tell and she invited me to that pastry shop, holy cow, I don’t think I ate anything that delicious my whole life.”

    Erwin smiled and took the full paper bag from Isabelle’s hands.

“What is it you study, by the way?”

“I’m a vet assistant apprentice.”

“Oh, that’s really good. You care about animals a lot, don’t you?”

    She nodded and turned her head to stare sadly at the aisle of meat.

“Yes,” her voice strained, all her usual cheerfulness suddenly gone. “They are such pure and innocent creatures. They’re never cruel, unlike people.” She tore her gaze away. “And even that, humanity managed to ruin by raising them in such horrible conditions and slaughtering them. I hate it.”

    Erwin swallowed uncomfortably, now feeling guilty about the ham sandwich he’d had for lunch. He remembered Levi warning him about that; Isabelle was extremely good at reeling in people to her cause. Erwin simply nodded and decided to change the subject before he’d find himself trapped as well.

“That’s a good thing that you and Historia are spending time together. To be honest with you, I fear that she’s very lonely. She told me she’d had trouble making friends since her and her father moved to France.”

“I don’t understand why, I think she’s super cool. She’s like that super cute and popular kid that everyone loves.”

    Erwin smiled at her, and they picked up the rest of their groceries with mindless small talk. Erwin insisted to pay before Isabelle had the chance to protest. They then made their way back, walking slowly, Isabelle hung at Erwin’s arm to keep him balanced. He had never felt so old than in that moment, but the soft warmth of Isabelle was enough to make him not care about it so much. There really was something about the girl that lifted his spirit, and he believed she had the same effect on Levi.

“You know, that makes me think, I’m really glad that you’re Levi’s friend,” she confessed after a while.

    Erwin looked down to her.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s a weird guy,” Erwin nodded at that. “And he’s always so reclusive and he never talks to anyone, not even me. I think he’s very lonely too. So, that makes me very happy that you two are spending so much time together. I hope he’s not too much trouble for you,” she finished with a grin.

“I have to admit that, he was pretty intimidating at first. Most of the time I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to handle him, but… I like having him around nevertheless.”

“Yeah, he’s a freaking pain in the ass, and he’s rude and fussy and his sense of humour is terrible. He says I’m as stupid as my cat, but he’s as feral as his. But… He grows on you, doesn’t he?”

    Erwin hummed in agreement.

“I think he likes that you’re his friend too, though he’ll never admit it.” She paused for a bit, readjusting the bags in her hand. “Winter isn’t really a happy time for him. But this year he’s not been as gloomy as usual, and I think you’ve got something to do with it.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. And I think playing music so often helps him too. He never really liked playing at Farlan’s shop, he says there’s too many people interrupting him. He hates being watched.”

“I figured as much, yes,” Erwin replied with a smirk. “Which is a shame, I believe. He has a lot of potential, and he’s a very quick learner, if the few months I’ve known him are anything to go by.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Thank you for taking the time to teach him, Monsieur Erwin.”

“No need to thank me, really.” Erwin looked in front of him, for the first time, appreciating the soothing sight of the fat snowflakes falling down. It had been years since there’d been a white Christmas, at least as many as since Erwin had last celebrated it. “He’s helping me too, you know.”

    Isabelle squeezed Erwin’s arm between her small fingers, and they both fell silent, eyes focused on the sea of white before them. 

    Farlan was already there when Erwin and Isabelle came back to the apartment, sat down on the small sofa and playing with Escargot. The remainder of the afternoon went by quickly, with Levi moving around the kitchen frantically and straight up refusing any help offered with the preparations of the dinner, while the three others chatted about everything and nothing, cats snaking between their legs. When the sky took a dark purple colour, Levi fished out one of the bottles of champagne Erwin had brought from the freezer and the four of them drank cheerfully, conversation flying effortlessly. If Levi had promised a dull and uninteresting dinner, what he served them was everything but that. The small coffee table was overflowing with colourful, rich dishes, barely leaving any space for the plates that everyone put on their lap, Erwin and Farlan sat on the sofa and the two flatmates onto thick floor cushions. 

    When Isabelle’s pleading for the gifts distribution became unbearable to the three men, Levi granted her request. Erwin shyly handed his small presents to Isabelle and Levi, not without prying a quick apologetic glance to Farlan. They were a few bags of Mariage Frère black teas into which Levi buried his nose with a satisfied hum, as well as a box of Ladurée pastries for Isabelle, who didn’t wait to eat half of them on the spot, despite her insisting that there was no place left for anything in her stomach. It came to no surprise to Erwin that Levi had not gotten him anything, not that he minded. The surprise, however, came from Isabelle, who handed him a small glitter paper bag containing an enamel pin shaped like a G clef, and it fit on the lapel of his coat perfectly with the cello pin Erwin had received from Hange on his birthday. 

    Levi quickly picked up the bits of wrapping paper, most of which had been thrown on the floor by Isabelle for the cats to play with. He and Farlan then went to the window to smoke a cigarette, the chill of the outside air creeping inside the room in a pleasant way; it was almost too small to welcome a party of four, and the temperature had risen dramatically over the last hours.

    Erwin turned back to Isabelle, who was scratching her cat’s belly and getting her hands attacked by sharp paws. He noticed that there were still two presents left unwrapped tucked beneath the table. He looked at them with an eyebrow arched. Isabelle followed his gaze and winked at him, and before she could start to explain, Levi and Farlan came back with cups and a teapot; its steam pleasantly coated with a strong lavender and almond scent. 

    Shortly after that, they began a game of Monopoly, which lasted well into the night. Erwin had been so engrossed in the game that he jumped when, all of the sudden, both Farlan and Isabelle yelled at the top of their lungs. It took him a few seconds to register the words: “Happy Birthday, Levi!”

    The two of them immediately rushed to fetch the leftover presents, and Isabelle pulled out more ice-cream from the freezer, scooping big chunks into a mismatched set of bowls.

“I had no idea it was your birthday, Levi,” Erwin admitted after a quick glance at the clock which told him it was just past midnight.

“Yeah, whatever, it’s no big deal, despite what these two make it to be.” He grabbed the bottle of Cognac and served himself a generous glass, eyes down and red flushing his cheeks. He passed the bottle to Erwin.

“Well, happy birthday to you then, Levi.”

    Despite his obvious embarrassment for being the center of attention, Levi accepted the two presents from his friends, his nose scrunched up as he opened Isabelle’s package. He held the two fluffy, colourful pairs of socks by the tip of his fingers. There were cats faces embroided in each.

“Do you really think I’m gonna wear those atrocities?” He muttered to the girl, shoving the socks back into the bag.

“Oh you know you will,” she said with a confident grin, quickly followed by Farlan’s laugh as he nodded.

“Whatever. Let’s get back to the game. Don’t think I forgot you owe me ten thousands francs, Isabelle.”

    She stuck her tongue out and tossed the paper bills at Levi with a grunt. 

    It did not take long for both Isabelle and Farlan to go bankrupt, and the two of them watched with a certain amusement the two older men face one another with way more devotion than needed. Despite the lightness in Erwin’s mind due to all the liquor he had consumed, he was taking this confrontation at heart. And Levi was definitely quite the vaillant opponent. Wits and strategies against blunt force and bold moves made the two of them sit at the edge of their seats, barely escaping bankruptcy over and over again, but somehow, always managing to recover.

    Erwin had not realised how long this dragged on for. Too long, probably, for, after yet another loud yawn coming from Isabelle, she announced she was unleashing the “natural disaster” card, and before Erwin had the time to figure out what she meant by that, she dropped the orange cat onto the board, who swiped a whole row of hotels with his tail while sprawling on the table, claws out to catch a thick pile of notes on Erwin’s side of the table.

“Thank baby Jesus, I thought this was never going to end,” Farlan sighed, stretching his arms over his head. “You two need to chill out. It’s just a game of Monopoly guys, the future of mankind doesn’t depend on it.”

    Erwin laughed lightly, and Levi shrugged with a grunt before finishing his glass of Cognac in one gulp and ordered Isabelle to clear the mess made by her cat while he went to the kitchen to brew another teapot, a cigarette between his lips. They all joined him by the window, stretching their legs at last and welcoming the breeze of fresh air.

“It’s not going to be fun to walk in that,” Farlan blurted out, eyes on the street below, glowing white under the streetlights.

    They all followed his gaze. It seemed like it had stopped snowing, but the ground was still pristine white and covered by a thick blanket of untouched snow.

“What are you talking about Farlan? We’re having a sleepover party!” Isabelle yapped excitedly, nuzzling against the blond’s shoulder.

“Are we? Works for me.”

“What about you, Blondie?” Levi asked before taking a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes as neutral as ever.

    Erwin threw a quick glance at the window. Admittedly, he was tired and a bit intoxicated, and the half-hour walk back to his flat, this late into the night, on the snow that had already gotten the best of him earlier – the dull ache in his lower back had reminded him of it the whole evening – seemed rather dreadful. But not as intimidating as sleeping over at Levi’s. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure where inside the cramped walls he would even fit. He’d rather take the risk of covering his whole body in bruises.

“I think I’ll be fine–”

“You already fell down earlier,” Isabelle interrupted, making Levi smirk. “You can stay here too, there’s plenty of space for everyone.”

    Erwin arched an eyebrow at that statement.

“Not really no,” Levi corrected, agreeing with Erwin’s silent thoughts. “But the brat’s right,” he added as he turned to Erwin. “Plus, you’re drunk. I’m sure you’ll fall fifteen times over before you can even reach the end of the street. I’d rather not read in the papers tomorrow morning that they found a dead, giant-ass snowman in the middle of the road.”

    Erwin frowned, trying to work out the best possible scenario in his head.

“Although, I guess that would mean…” Levi looked at the three of them, then the room behind them, and back to Erwin. “That you’d have to share the couch with me.”

“Oh.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind,” he gestured his hand before his face, leaving a trail of white smoke behind. “Hope your back’s sturdy enough, old man, because it’s not the most comfortable thing to sleep on.”

“It has seen worse, don’t worry.”

    Erwin didn’t really know when he’d agreed to staying over, but he figured it was too late to backtrack now – Isabelle was jumping with excitement already. He’d have to make do with this, and hoped that this wouldn’t be the night his brain decided to act up. If he had not already forgotten about his earlier discovery regarding Levi’s surname, he would not have felt so confident about it. 

    Levi nodded, and with that, the debate closed.

    They drank their tea in a cosy, tired silence, and both Isabelle and Farlan headed to the girl’s bedroom, waving their hands lazily at the two men. Levi quickly unfolded the sofa and carefully set the sheets, covers and pillows on it. He then looked over Erwin, scanning him openly. They both realised the same issue at the same time.

“I’ll tell you right now, there isn’t a single piece of clothing in this house that’d fit you, soldier boy. The only thing I can give you is a toothbrush.”

    Erwin dreadfully figured as much; he’d have to sleep in his briefs and undershirt. He nodded slowly, and decided to leave this until the last moment. He’d rather not have Levi – or anyone else, for that matter – see the ugly flesh of his stump. 

    After a quick visit to the bathroom to brush his teeth and relieve his bladder, he took off his trousers and jumper, and folded them on the back of a chair. Erwin walked back into the living-room and sat down the creaky sofa onto which Escargot was busy licking his paws. He drew his hand out to pet the cat on the head. Levi turned off the main light, leaving the room to glow under the dim, flickering light of a neon above the kitchen sink. Erwin watched him with a yawn.

“Don’t wait on me, I’m not quite tired yet,” Levi said, picking up a plate from the pile of dirty dishes on the counter.

“Are you sure? If that’s me preventing you from–”

“Don’t worry, old man. I just don’t sleep very much anyway. And I’d like to get this mess cleared before I do,” he turned on the faucet and grabbed a sponge. “If you don’t mind the noise or the lights.”

“It’s fine, I can sleep through pretty much anything,” Erwin assured softly, pulling the covers, and climbing into the bed.

“Alright. ‘Night then.”

“Good night, Levi.”

“And don’t take all the fucking space.”

“I’ll try my best,” Erwin’s voice was low and thick with sleep already.

    He looked at Levi for a bit longer, and when he decided that the man was focused enough on washing the dishes, Erwin unbuttoned his dress shirt, hiding his upper body behind the blanket as best as he could, and put it aside. He then fell down to the bed, and rolled to his right side, making sure to tuck himself neatly under the covers. He breathed deeply, taking in the fresh scent of clean laundry with a vague undertone of cold tobacco. He closed his eyes and sleep took over him quickly, lulled by the warm purring weight at his feet, the sounds of running water, and a slow, familiar tune that Levi was humming to himself.

 

\- - -

 

    He was suffocating. The familiar, nauseating taste of iron, thickened with dust, clogged his trachea. It stung like glass shards. The urge to cough took over him, but there was a crushing anvil pinning him down. He opened his eyes at a sharp pain tumbling down his chest. There was a golden blur of dark silhouettes soaring around him. Stepping on him. The sun was blinding him, shooting burning strikes at his skin with each new shadow, stinging his eyelids with saline. He couldn’t breathe no longer. Both his arms reached up to chase the weight off his chest.

    Things slowed down at once, and his vision cleared, a veil of a deep crimson before his eyes. He saw them, one by one, stepping over him, stuck in an endless loop.

      _Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman, Kirstein, Bott, Lenz, Braun, Hoover, Leonhart, Springer, Blouse._

    And again.

_Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman, Kirstein, Bott, Lenz, Braun, Hoover, Leonhart, Springer, Blouse._

    And again– steel pierced right through his eyes.

    _Jäger, Arlet, Ackerman– Ackerman._

_Ackerman._

_Ackerman._

    He pushed the weight off his chest with a tremendous strength, all focused in his left arm. His _only_ arm. His fingers closed around something sturdy. The pressure at his throat pushed in deeper. His body rose with a coughing fit, only to be stopped abruptly by a sharp pain at his neck. His grip tightened.

“Oi, Erwin. Erwin! What the fuck?”

    His eyes shot open in the sudden darkness. 

_Ackerman._

Levi _Ackerman._

_Fuck._

    His fingers immediately loosened around what he now identified as Levi’s arm, who was laying heavily on Erwin’s chest, holding him down firmly and… 

“Are you back to your senses yet? Fuck– you startled me.” Levi whistled between gritted teeth, releasing the pressure as he pushed himself on his elbow. 

    He then lifted his other hand away slightly, finally allowing air back into Erwin’s lungs. Erwin saw the blinding, fleeting glow of metal in Levi's hand.

    Levi had been pinning him down with a knife at his throat.

    Erwin blinked, only now realising he’s been heaving this whole time; his loud pants, the only sounds echoing in the otherwise dead silent room. Levi sat back up further, looking down the knife gripped steadily between white knuckles.

“Well… That’s not even close to the weirdest situation I’ve found myself in.” He fell down on his heels, kneeling next to Erwin, who was still etched deep into the cheap mattress, still and heavy as a rock. “You alright?”

    Erwin swallowed dryly and finally let go of Levi’s arm with a strain in his fingers. He blinked several times, struggling to recover from the fogginess of his mind. He brought his hand over his face, fingers deep into the flesh, and breathed hot, heavy air into his palm. He nodded and weakly lifted himself in a sitting position.

“You sure? You look like you’re about to puke. Are you going to puke? Because if that’s so I’d rather have you do it in the freaking toilets.”

    It took more effort than it should have, for Erwin to lock his gaze onto Levi’s face. His breathing had steadied down to a low rumble. His mouth was dry and the taste on his tongue, bitter.

“I’m fine,” he replied harshly, his voice thick with sleep and temper.

    Levi swiftly folded the blade of his pocket knife back inside the handle with a loud click and threw it under his pillow.

“Sure.”

    He turned away from Erwin after scrunching his nose, and bent over the bed to reach for a water bottle on the ground. Erwin tore his gaze from Levi’s back with a sigh. That’s when he saw the exposed paleness of his bare shoulders. He froze and the next moment, rushed to get ahold of the blanket, fumbling with it to wrap it tightly around his shoulders – to hide his shame.

“Hey, stop that! You’re gonna get blood everywhere, you idiot.” 

    Erwin ignored the statement, his brain too cloudy to understand Levi’s words, and kept pulling the blanket towards his stump. Levi quickly reached out to tear the heavy fabric away.

“Jesus Christ, you’re not a morning person, okay, I get it. Give me that,” he tugged at the blanket that Erwin clung to with white knuckles. “And go wash that blood up.”

    Erwin looked down to his right shoulder, only now registering what Levi meant. The skin was covered in red lines, some of them leaking small drops of sticky blood. He released the fabric to glance down at his fingers, and in the darkness of the room, barely managed to see the dark lining the underside of his nails.

“Oi, Erwin, you still there?”

“ _Yes_.”

    Without another word, he cautiously put his feet down the floor, the wood rough and cold beneath his bare soles. After feeling the sturdiness of his legs, Erwin rose and made a beeline to the bathroom, his steps wary in the dimness of the room.

    He avoided lighting up the bathroom once he made it there, unwilling to face his reflection in the mirror. He groped around until he found the sink, and ran cold water over his sweaty face. He then vaguely remembered seeing a pile of clean towels on an open shelf earlier, and tried to feel for it in the darkness. He found one, grabbed it and tucked it under his armpit before splashing water at his stump to wash the blood away. He then patted his skin dry and wrapped the towel over his shoulders – just long enough to cover the tip of his stump.

    He faced the door again, and opened it after a deep inhale and a prayer that Levi had fallen back to sleep while he was away; he really, _really_ could not be bothered to have to answer to whatever questions he might have, nor bear his snarky comments, or even, simply, feel his piercing gaze burn away at his skin.

    The dim light that Erwin recognised as the one from the kitchen’s neon bathed the living room in a soft glow, and he knew his prayers had been ignored. He held the towel firmly against his chest and stepped forwards with dread. The only thing he wanted was to run away.

“Here, have some water,” Levi demanded, his quiet voice coming from the kitchen.

    Erwin walked to him with menacing eyes and took the glass offered to him.

“Are you hungover? Do you want some aspirin or something?”

“No.”

“Alright,” he said with a hint of disdain, unimpressed by Erwin’s bleakness.

    Levi turned to the counter, poured steaming water into two mugs already filled with a teabag each. Erwin looked away to catch a glance at the clock on the wall, which read five thirty-four. He brought the glass of water to his lips and took long gulps to flush the gunpowder from his throat. The glass went empty, and his mouth still felt dry and full of salt.

    Levi slid one of the two mugs towards Erwin, a faint scent of chamomile trailing behind it. He put down the glass and took the infusion instead, the china warm in his freezing hand.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Cigarette?” Levi offered, taking two sticks out of his pack.

    Erwin reached forwards with a silent nod, and Levi tucked one of the cigarettes between Erwin’s fingers and the mug. He then stepped back to open the window, and dropped down the sill. He patted next to him, and Erwin mindlessly took the invitation. Levi’s gaze weighted on him while he flicked the stone of the lighter, took a long drag, and brought the open flame between them. Erwin put his cup down and took the cigarette to his lips, leaning forwards to light his own. They both smoked in silence, Erwin’s eyes stuck down the streets, his body assaulted by goosebumps and shudders. He was torn away from his empty thoughts when the towel suddenly slid down his shoulder. He quickly reached for it again, only to find his hand closing onto Levi’s. The short man clicked his tongue loudly.

“Let me see.”

“No.” He leaned back abruptly to tear himself from Levi’s grip.

“Erwin,” he warned, “you’re freezing your tits off, so, let me see if it’s still bleeding or not.”

“It’s not.”

    Levi squinted his eyes, and Erwin mimicked him. They exchanged a menacing, scathing stare, until Levi blinked from the smoke that prickled at his eyes. He shrugged and uncrossed his feet, stood up and walked to the bed from which he retrieved a heavy woolen quilt. He dropped it scornfully on Erwin’s shoulders and sat back, dragging on his cigarette sharply as he buried his head in his steaming cup of tea. His eyes were still on Erwin, which irritated him to no end.

    Erwin tried to focus on removing the wet towel from his shoulders instead and wrapping himself in the warm cloth without exposing his stump.

“Do you need help with that?” Levi sounded tired.

“No.”

    If Levi made an annoyed noise at that, Erwin elected he’d ignore it. He ditched his cigarette in the ashtray and barely managed to successfully rid himself of the towel. Levi took it from him before he could even protest, and Erwin then brought his knees to his chest, wrapping himself tightly under the quilt. He picked up his cup again, drank silently, hoping to drown his ravenous craving for another cigarette – or five or six – in the rich, warm tea. One of his legs started bouncing lightly in response. He curled further in on himself. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore Levi’s insisting stare.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“That’s no wonder you butchered your shoulder like that. I have never seen such a terrible nail trimming job in my life. And I’ve seen… things.”

    Erwin scoffed, only now untying his eyebrows that had been locked in a frown ever since he woke up.

“Not sure how you expect me to do a good job single-handedly,” he spat coldly.

    Levi took a loud sip from his cup.

“Okay, calm down, jeez. Just– There, take another cigarette,” Levi tossed his pack of Camels at Erwin’s feet and walked away from the window, “I’ll be right back.”

    Erwin did not wait another second to take Levi’s offer, and seized the pack angrily. He took a long, deep drag from the new cigarette; the warm smoke fanned down to his lungs. He snuggled further into the fuzzy fabric of the quilt and allowed himself to enjoy the quiet loneliness. _God_ , he wished he had gone back to his apartment earlier, then he wouldn’t have to put up with Levi, who seemed far too invested in Erwin’s misery, and, Erwin reckoned, he might even enjoy seeing him in such a bad mood.

    His relief was short lived, as he heard Levi’s steps approaching again. He lazily raised his gaze to him, and noticed he was carrying a small pair of scissors curved at the tip.

“You have a thing for handling sharp objects around me, don’t you?”

“Piss off.” Levi slumped down next to Erwin. “Give me your hand.”

“Oh no,” Erwin warned, now realising Levi’s intentions. “No, no, no, you won’t.”

“Oh yes I will. Come on, don’t be a baby and give me your bloody hand,” he commanded, holding his hand, palm up, in the space between them.

    Then began a heated staring contest, full of threats and severity. The air thickened up with a palpable tension, the steady ticking of the second-hand on the clock louder and louder with each passing second.

“Fucking hell,” Levi hissed and seized Erwin’s hand, making the cigarette slip from his grip. 

    Erwin immediately drew back, but Levi’s strength was astoningly sharp, and he had no trouble reeling him closer. Ferocity glowed red in his eyes; Erwin remembered the way he had been pressing that knife at his throat only moments ago, with such agility and sheer bestiality, and he began to genuinely fear what Levi was capable of. He huffed loudly and stopped resisting.

    Levi immediately took the opportunity to lay Erwin’s hand onto his lap and swiftly picked up the cigarette that was burning away at the marble of the sill to lock it between his own lips. He caught Erwin’s thumb between his fingers and brought the pair of scissors to it.

    He began meticulously clipping away the unevenly shaped nail with slow but precise movements, making sure to pick up every bit and discard them into the ashtray. His fingers were rough and calloused against the pad of Erwin’s thumb. His used to be like this too, before he’d been forced into retirement – both from the military and cello playing. Erwin watched, eyes empty, first at Levi’s focused face, then down both their hands, as the blades of the scissors slid smoothly around the curve of Erwin’s thumb, trimming the nail in a perfect, rounded symmetry. Even with both his hands, Erwin could never have dreamt of doing such a clean job.

    Levi leaned back slightly, taking one last drag at the cigarette and put it down. He held Erwin’s finger closer to his face, turned it left and right before leading it to his lap again with a satisfied hum. He then proceeded to trim the second one.

    Erwin had not realised the strong, soothing effect that watching Levi’s meticulous endeavour roused in him until he was at the fourth finger. The heavy, muddy blast fallout that clawed stubbornly down his chest slowly dissipated into a lightness that smelled like chamomile and soap. Mesmerised by the repetitive motions, Erwin scraped the nightmare away, tucking it deep into the darkness of his brain. He felt like he had taken his first breath of air ever since waking up.

“Do you always sleep with a knife under your pillow?” Erwin asked, the words slipping out his mouth before his tired mind could even decide to utter them.

“It wasn’t personal, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Levi replied without tearing his gaze away from his hands. “Old habits.” 

“Have you ever had to use it?”

“What did you think just happened?” Levi snorted. “Usually the mere threat of it is enough to send the message across,” he added evasively. “Which, I suppose, means that yes, I’ve had to use it. More than once.”

“I see.” 

    Erwin wondered if it would be wise to ask Levi what kind of life he had been leading to call this an “old habit”.

“I stabbed that guy’s hand once,” Levi replied to Erwin silent question. “He was trying to snatch my bag away from me while I was sleeping. Fucking asshole had it coming.”

    Erwin frowned, struggling to make clear sense of Levi’s words.

“Happened outside Saint Lazare station. This place’s full of junkies at night.”

“Why were you sleeping outside a train station?” Erwin asked bemused, just as he grasped the obvious answer.

    Levi exhaled sharply through his nose and he dropped his gazed down again, now locking Erwin’s pinky between his fingers.

“We all have our circumstances,” he muttered only once he’d finished his task.

“I suppose you’re right.” Erwin’s words were but a whisper, barely breaking through the peaceful silence of the room.

    Levi leaned back, letting the scissors fall next to the ashtray, and lit up another cigarette. He offered one to Erwin who accepted it with a quiet “thank you”.

“Do you want to talk about yours?”

“Mine?”

“Your circumstances. Or whatever bullshit that made you toss and scream like a dying man in your sleep.”

    Erwin let out a mirthless chuckle.

“Is that what happened?”

    Levi nodded as he put his cigarette between his lips, looking at the building on the other side of the street.

“No, I’d rather not talk about it.”

    Levi nodded again. The silence fell back between them, and despite the biting cold that seeped into the room from the open windows swirling under Erwin’s heavy woolen fort, it did not feel as tense as earlier.

“You…” Levi sighed, rolling his head towards Erwin with a baffled expression. “You talked a lot in your sleep. I thought it was some kind of English bullcrap but… you said a name – Ackerman. _My_ name. You said it a lot.”

“Oh…”

“Really, you can’t blame me for the knife, that was creepy as fuck.”

“Sorry about that. It’s…” Erwin paused, the words stuck at the back of his tongue, unsure how much he was ready to disclose. “Mikasa Ackerman.” The name stabbed through his chest. “That’s the name I was calling.”

    Levi opened his mouth with a short intake of air, let it hang for a few moments before he closed it again.

“Friend of yours?”

“Subordinate,” Erwin corrected.

“What happened?”

“I’ll leave you to your own conclusions,” Erwin stated coldly, closing the conversation.

    Levi understood the silent plea and turned his head back to the window, drawing on his cigarette slowly. Erwin imitated him, the name he had dared to speak aloud still burning deep down his core. He had been used to hearing the names recited endlessly in his head for years – a habit he did not remember picking up, but somehow, kept him grounded when he needed it the most. But that’s what they were: just surnames, silently defiling in his brain, always in the same order, like they were nothing but the lyrics of a litany from a dead language. Picking one out of the flow, granting it substance, saying it out loud, was like ripping off a bandage to expose a gushing wound that never healed underneath.

“There were eleven of them,” Erwin blamed the words that kept pouring out of his mouth on his exhaustion. “Cadets, fresh out of military school. They were just kids. I still don’t know why they thought it was a good idea to send them on the field so early on, it’s not like we were lacking soldiers with experience to send away in their stead. They were just kids,” he repeated shakily. Levi looked at him. “And I… I let them die. All of them. No, actually, I… I sent them to their death. It was… Careless of me. I shouldn’t have dragged them into this mess. _They were just kids_.”

    Erwin went for his cigarette with a slight tremor in his arm, only to find the filter crushed flat between his fingers. He threw it through the window and closed his hand in a tight fist until the shells of his now smooth nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm.

“It was war, wasn’t it? It’s not like you had much of a choice.”

“I… It doesn’t change anything. In the end, I’m the one who planned and strategized the mission. They were my responsibility.”

“And now what? They’re your cross to bear?”

    Erwin sighed.

“I don’t think you’d quite understand.”

“Oh no, I think I do, very clearly.” Levi closed the windows at last, and sat back down, his back knocking against the cold glass. “What I don’t understand is your behaviour towards it. Obviously you feel guilty for those kids, but then what? Letting it eat away at your life won’t do shit to bring them back.”

“Then you definitely do not understand.” Erwin stood up, his empty mug in his hand and moved towards the sink.

“The fact is that they all died and you survived. If you really wanted to give them any kind of payback, it would be by trying to live your life to the fullest. Otherwise you might as well have just died with them.”

    Erwin stopped halfway through his steps, his back facing Levi.

“You wish you did, don’t you?” Levi went on, encouraged by the way Erwin suddenly froze. “And you’re going to, what? Spend the rest of your days wishing you died there too?” Levi paused, and Erwin heard the rustle of fabric and clinking sound of china. Levi appeared before him seconds later, snatched the mug from Erwin’s hand and dropped both in the sink. “But instead of that, I think you should just respect their sacrifice and cherish the fact that you made it back alive. That you have the opportunity to live the life they couldn’t. It may not be how you wanted things to go, but that’s the best you’ve got.”

    Erwin wanted to protest. He wanted to talk back at Levi, to tell him that he had no idea of what he was talking about, that things did not work this way – they really didn’t – to yell some sense into his dense brain. Instead, he did nothing. Because, deep down, he knew that Levi just made a compelling point. He huffed through his nose, diving his head down with a light, ominous chuckle. When he raised his head again, Levi was standing in front of him, arms crossed tightly.

“Now I understand why I got rid of my therapist.”

“Huh– What?”

“Do you know why I ditched her? She did not make me want to get better. Quite the opposite. She was always dancing around the subject. Trying to be considerate. Too bloody careful with her words. Handling me like I was a child, and making me believe I was one in the end. And so I kept challenging her, making it a point to jeopardise my own, already half-assed attempt at recovery, just because I wanted a reaction from her, because guilt and misery was easier than actually trying. But no, she kept telling me I was doing good, that progress takes time,” Erwin snorted “I never made any progress." He shook his head, "if she just once dared to speak as freely as you do, then maybe it would have been enough for me to take this more seriously and actually try. So, for what it's worth, thank you for speaking your mind, Levi.”

    Levi shifted the weight on his legs, blinking slowly.

“Whatever,” he turned away to hide the redness at his cheeks with a shrug.

    Erwin breathed deeply, steadily – like he finally remembered how to do it – his eyes on the back of Levi’s hoodie, watching it crease as he cleaned the dishes earnestly. The slow swirl of the fabric pulled heavily at Erwin’s eyelids. His eyes fell downwards, drawn by gravity, and he couldn’t help the smile upon seeing Levi’s feet dressed with the – truly horrendous – socks Isabelle had gotten him. 

    Levi quickly finished his task, and as he dried his hand into the hand towel, walked to the window again, peering down.

“You know what’s way better than therapy?” he asked. “Working out.”

    Erwin’s eyebrows arched up. If the strong built of Levi’s body from what Erwin had seen through his clothes was anything to go by, then he reckoned that it was a fervent habit of his.

“Looks like the snow is already turning to mush.” He turned back to Erwin, the ghost of a grin at his lips. “Care for a jog?”

    Erwin scoffed but his amusement was short lived when he figured that Levi was not joking. He wrapped his hand around his waist. He’d not worked out in years, and he believed he’d rather spare himself any further embarrassment for Levi to witness – there had been more than enough already. Moreover, he was exhausted. Erwin turned his eyes to look at the clock again. It was just past six.

“I don’t have the right apparel for that at the moment, may I remind you.”

“Coward,” Levi teased.

    Erwin smirked and walked to the bed again, sitting down to it heavily, his body weighing like a thousand. 

“Ah, I might as well be one.”

    Levi clicked his tongue and tore himself away from the window in one swift motion. He disappeared to the bathroom after telling Erwin, not without impudence, that he was heading out nevertheless. Erwin was mid-way through slipping himself under the covers again when Levi came back in the room. He had traded his worn, moth-eaten grey sweatpants and hoodie for a black and sleek pair of leggings that hugged the defined curves of his strong thighs, topped with an oversized k-way raincoat, unusually smooth, lined with thick, reflective panels along the sleeves.

“Well, if you’re not going to run, then you’ll be kind enough to clean while I’m away,” Levi stated after bending down to pick up a pair of running shoes that were threatening to fall apart.

    Erwin shot a concerned look around the room, bewildered by the request, but not so much surprised. Everything was spotless, even the floors looked like they had been polished, as if the party from the previous night had never happened. Erwin’s confusion grew deeper, for he simultaneously wondered what more Levi expected him to do, but also, just how much cleaning Levi had done before going to bed. He was interrupted by a coarse, malicious laugh.

“Don’t sweat it, I was only joking, Sleeping Beauty.”

    With a drop of his shoulders, Erwin rolled his eyes and sat further in the middle of the bed.

“I was afraid you ran out.”

“Ran out?”

“You called me by my name earlier.”

    Levi croaked a smug laugh, the sound mingled with the scratch of velcro strips being ripped open.

“Go back to sleep before you say any more idiocy, Elizabeth the Second, Queen of England, Kingdom of grumpy armless blondies, old and crippling. You’ll make people believe it’s Halloween instead of Christmas with those bags under your eyes.” Levi’s tone rang softly, and Erwin suspected, more than intended. 

    He nodded and instantly slumped down to the mattress, the pillows swallowing his face greedily. He heard some rustling coming from the front door, and, assuming that Levi was leaving, closed his eyes, his consciousness already seeping into slumber.

“You know what else is better than therapy?” Levi’s voice came from very close. Before Erwin could open his eyes again or turn around, something heavy plopped at his feet. “Cats.”

    Erwin smiled loudly, reaching his hand out to pet the purring orange ball of fluff. Escargot leaned into the touch, his tiny paws digging into Erwin’s flesh as he climbed onto him before settling in the curve of his stomach.

“Thank you,” he whispered with a swell in his chest, contorting his neck to glance at Levi.

    He caught the sight of Levi turning away, and the next instant, the front door closed softly as he left. Erwin sank further down the mattress, his hand still mindlessly scratching behind the cat’s ears, and fell asleep in a matter of seconds; a sound, quiet slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #onlyonebed
> 
>  
> 
> Additional tags/warnings:  
> \- PTSD episode  
> \- mentions of death  
> \- implied self-harm


	6. CODA - chapter vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [TheIndifferentDroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid) for beta-reading!
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy the chapter~
> 
> (additional tags/warnings in the end notes)

 

“Monsieur Smith, would you mind playing something with me?”

    He looked up to the bright blue of Historia’s eyes, framed with a rosy,shy blush, and blinked slowly. He scanned the room behind her, all blurry figures moving with grace on the marble floors to the waltz streaming out of an antique gramophone, surrounded by tables draped in white and towers of champagne flutes. It was New Year’s Eve, and, almost by tradition at this point, Erwin was spending the evening at the Opera Garnier. The prestigious reception room – a circular salon encased by Ionic columns – sported finely engraved stone and marble tainted rose gold under the dim, cozy lights, and was conquered by frivolous chatter and a couple hundred swirling figures. 

    Hange had even coaxed Erwin into becoming one of the latter with a smug grin and a forceful pull towards the centre of the room. Despite consenting to stop looking for a potential date, she still made every effort to show Erwin off – and her desperate attempts had been rewarded, for it wasn’t long before he had danced with so many different ladies that his head was spinning. Melded with the excessive servings of champagne he’d indulged in since the start of the evening, Erwin had been quick to return to the shadows at the outer edges, where he’d hoped to settle until midnight.

    Historia had found him shortly after, eyes evasive, chewing on her nails. Erwin knew the reason behind her query; she and her father had been invited to join the crowd for the night, and the man had made it clear that he expected his daughter to take the opportunity to introduce herself to the talented musicians of the opera house and the influential guests, to impress them, and already find a way amongst their ranks – a task Erwin had all but overlooked to help her with so far. 

    And what a crowd, Erwin thought; one that suddenly became a lot more intimidating with the idea of putting himself bare, on display before them. He was well acquainted with most of the people here: former colleagues and admirers, people he still rubbed shoulders with on the daily, some he’d even call friends. People who had offered a grandiose concert earlier this evening, who lived on a musical note and would, most certainly, be quick to adjudicate Erwin’s average piano skills.

    With a shiver running down his spine, he brought his attention back to Historia. Behind her gold veil of diffidence hid a benevolent soul trapped by the will of her father she strived to serve. So much that she’d requested extra lessons during the holidays, and by doing so, unknowingly saved Erwin from a week of loneliness and complacency. That was the least he owed her. 

    He sat back in his chair, resting his chin on his knuckles.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

    Historia’s shoulders dropped with a relieved sigh.

“ _Sole Azzurro_ sonata number four by Pixis?” she suggested shyly, hands fidgeting with the gold embroideries at the collar of her teal, velvet dress.

    It was a piece the two of them had been working through this past week; a short, lively tune that always lead Erwin back near the gentle flow of mountain rivers in summertime – where and when it actually had been written. He wasn’t sure if Historia was aware of Erwin’s – former – close bond with Pixis, or even if she knew that Erwin had been the cellist on the official record of thi particular sonata. What he knew, however, was that Historia had chosen this piece with purpose: if she wanted to make a lasting impression to the orchestra conductor, Zackley, then, Pixis’ music was the most assertive choice.

    Erwin nodded, complimenting Historia on her selection, and the two of them headed to the improvised stage, in the centre of which laid a prestigious grand piano and a variety of instruments that had been taken out for this very intent. As Historia set up a cello, adjusted its height and tightened the bow, the music from the speakers hushed down, and soon, all eyes turned to them. 

    Erwin took a moment to steady his breathing, to feel for the tempo of his own heart as he tapped the tip of his fingers against the ivory keys, just enough to graze at their smooth surface. He kept telling himself that there was no reason for such childish nervousness; he’d played this sonata countless times, and although he was a lot more acquainted with the cello score, his recent practice with Historia had been fruitful – the two of them worked in a finely tuned duo.

    Erwin’s anxiety laid elsewhere; it was the audience that made his palm clammy with dread. All he could sense was their natural yet morbid curiosity to find out how well Erwin, as broken as he was, would perform. He used to be one of them, he used to be called the most talented cellist of his time, and now he was reduced to sit behind a piano merely to assist an unknown, shy girl pretending to his previous, rightful title.

    He shook the malicious voice away, unclenching his white knuckled fist and looked up to Historia, who gave him a slight nod. His hand hovered over the keys for a few more moments before he opened the melody, all his focus on the notes, the gliding of his fingers and the movements of Historia. 

    The whispers soon died under the profuse indulgent melody, instead replaced by the light footsteps lead into dancing by the flow of music. Erwin too, let himself wander away, back when Pixis had written this sonata, back in the secluded house at the foothills of the Italian Alps, back when days were but warm sun and clear skies. A summer during which Erwin had carried his cello on his back to the lake everyday, always wearing smears of black ink at his wrists, dancing crotchets and quavers seeping under his skin like spring water. A time where his worries had only been about perfecting his skills and spending every moment lulled by music. But more than the lush green of the hills or orange glow on the clear water, the image Erwin longed to recover the most was the proud smile etched on his father’s face before the rainstorm eventually came crashing down, washing it away.

    The sonata faded with one last, warm and resonant vibrato, which dragged into a looming silence. Erwin held his breath anxiously, and only let it go when Hange's very distinctive, garish cheers broke through it, initiating a low rumble that rapidly evolved in a round of applause.

    Erwin opened his eyes again, slowly, and dared to set them on the crowd that had gathered around the stage. He caught the sight of Historia’s father at the back, arms crossed, and the pride he was wearing on his face was but a corrupted, self-interested shadow that could never compare to Erwin’s father’s genuine elation for his son’s success.

    He looked over at Historia instead, standing up and walking to her. She put the cello aside and the two of them bowed slightly. He smiled at the teenager, congratulations slipping from his lips which she accepted humbly, and quickly excused himself, suddenly overwhelmed by it all – the memories, the echoes that tugged at his heartstrings, the twisted mirror of his own past, and a helpless pity, both for Historia and himself – and the bottle of champagne Hange was waving above her head seemed like the best way to wash it down. 

    He walked through the small crowd, throwing polite thanks through the blurry veil covering his eyes, vaguely pointing at Hange and Moblit to explain his haste. Chatter soon resumed, and the gramophone sputtered a few grainy notes before running again when Erwin finally managed to free himself. Hange was in his line of sight when a sturdy hand clasped his shoulder. He jumped, torn away from his despairing sobriety, and found Zackley standing eminent before him with a grin of yellow teeth striking sharply against his white beard.

“My boy!” he roared, hand squeezed firm around Erwin. “That thing you did just now, it wasn’t as terrible as I would have thought.”

“Huh– Thanks,” Erwin stammered, eyebrows raised at what he knew to take as a compliment.

“And _Sole Azzurro_ by that old geezer? You sure know how to catch my attention,” there was a sinister flavour to the words, and Erwin’s bones almost crushed under his grip.

“It was… Historia’s choice, actually.”

    Finally withdrawing his hand, Zackley let out a hearty laugh. It died as quickly as it came, and his liquor filled breath hit Erwin’s nose as he leaned closer, eyes squinted dark.

“I’m sure it was,” he drawled slowly, and took a step back.

    Zackley seized a glass of champagne from a waitress passing nearby, gulped it down and slammed it back on the tray with a loud clatter before she had the time to walk away.

“When is that crumpled drunkard going to write something new?” he glowered accusingly.

    Erwin shrugged, and before he could think of a reply, Zackley groaned loudly.

“You know I’m not retiring until he gives me something new to work with, boy. It’s been years, what the fuck is he doing?”

“I don’t know,” Erwin admitted sheepishly – Zackely’s tone almost persuaded him that he was the one at fault for Pixis’ lack of inspiration. “It’s been a while since we last talked to each other, I’m afraid.”

“What good are you then?”

    Erwin knew better than to let Zackley’s pique get to him – he’d had many years of practice on how to handle the conductor’s wild outbursts. Slipping his hand into the pocket of his dress trousers, Erwin shifted the weight on his heels. 

“Why don’t _you_ ask him yourself then?” he retorqued with the slightest smirk.

    Zackley burst into laughter, which quickly turned into a coughing fit, the sound wet and jarring. Erwin patiently waited for him to recover, and it was with purple cheeks that Zackley fished out a fat cigar from a tin case he took out of his jacket.

“Ah, my boy, my boy,” he wheezed through the open flame of his lighter. “I may be old and wretched, but I’ll be long dead and rotten before you’ll see me beg.” He puffed the thick smoke at Erwin’s face. “Just… Make sure our dear friend gets the message.”

    Erwin made the empty promise to do so with a manifest roll of his eyes and abandoned Zackley for his long overdue champagne serving. A promise he discarded as soon as he turned away and planned to bury six feet under – the idea of contacting Pixis again roused the hairs at the base of his skull. That was, until the subject came up with Mike over the phone, the following evening.

“Do you think he’ll ever write again?”

“Dear god, did Zackely actually pay you to harass me with this too?”

“Sorry,” Mike laughed.

“He’s too stubborn to ask Pixis himself. I swear, those two are meant for each other.”

    Mike hummed softly.

“Have you been in touch with Pixis lately? It’s been a while since you talked about him.”

“Uh. No.”

“You should write to him or something. Just to make sure he has not drowned in his beloved whiskey, you know.”

“There’s a reason we haven’t been in contact for so long, Mike,” Erwin stated coldly.

“You know he doesn’t resent you for what happened like, twenty years ago, or is that still what you believe?”

    Erwin shrugged, aware that Mike couldn’t see him, and stirred his legs, sinking further down his uncomfortable chair, back hitting the cold windows behind him.

“That’s not–” he objected with no clear train of thought, only to leave his sentence hanging.

    Erwin had failed Pixis, his teacher, his mentor – a man who had almost become a second father to him. Even if he had never shown any grudge for it, Erwin wasn’t going to forgive himself as easily as Pixis had. 

“You know,” Mike began after Erwin’s silence had dragged on for too long. “You should tell him you’re teaching cello again. I’m sure he’d be happy to hear it.”

    Erwin sighed shortly through his nose, refusing to grant Mike a response.

“Okay, don’t then. But… Just, write something. I know you miss him.”

    Erwin sighed again, louder this time. Mike was right – he always was.

“I’ll think about it,” he conceded noncommittally. 

    There was a shy, satisfied noise on Mike’s end.

“So,” Mike tried cautiously after a long silence, “you were telling me about your cello student. What’s her name again? Histoire or something?”

“Historia.” 

“Historia, right. What kind of name is that?” Mike joked lightly, but to no avail. 

    That was just as bad as a topic than the previous one, Erwin thought. He had yet to mention to his friend the striking resemblance between her and Christa – he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to.

    Mike cleared his throat. 

“Anyway. It seems that she has a good influence on you.”

“Does it?”

“Why, yes. She actually made _you_ play in front of quite the audience. And Pixis’ music, on top of that. She’s ballsy, I like that,” Mike explained smugly. “Also, it feels like you’ve been doing an awful lot better ever since you’ve met that girl.” 

    A smile tore across Erwin’s face, his thoughts briefly driving away from the conversation. Mike’s words carried a concrete weight, an anchor meant to assert Erwin’s own intuition. However, the audacious one, who shook up his world, unknowingly and unwillingly, had been no other than Levi. Historia was but a consequence of him. Not that Erwin was going to amend Mike’s statement; he wouldn’t know how to begin to explain the oddly intimate sanctity of Levi’s role in his life, and perhaps he wasn’t ready to open up about it quite yet, not even to his closest friend.

“I’m just… Rediscovering the joys of being around a cello.”

    Mike breathed a short hum.

“Or… Does she have a hot mum you’re trying to seduce?”

    They both snorted at the same time, relieving the unusual tension that had built up between them.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Something to keep in mind then, if you ever get to meet her,” Mike paused with a thoughtful intake of breath. “But maybe it is that cello is the true love of your life after all.”

 

\- - -

 

    A groan escaped Erwin’s lips as he lifted his head, pads of his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. His eyelids were heavy from the rise of the night bathing the room in darkness. He sat back with a sigh, sinking into the lustrous velvet of the cushioned armchair and waved his hand around until it found the switch of the halogen lamp. It flickered on with a dull buzz, casting looming yellow shadows over the surface of the crowded coffee table, overflowed with cassette tape cases.

    He stretched his legs, allowing himself a moment of recess and babbled another groan, this time satisfied that most of his Sunday — his last day of tribulation before routine would settle back in — had passed him by.

    He’d been on edge the whole week, desperate for time to pass faster, and had tried everything to help it: wine, boring books written in hazy words, whiskey, overdue paperwork, lone piano practices and monotonous corrections of his few students' music sheets, and many, many crumpled silken paper sheets bearing Pixis’ name at the top. _Hell_ , he even emptied two bottles of cough syrup – the easy, available and most definitely, improper replacement for sleeping pills – he’d found between cobwebs at the back of his bathroom cabinets. 

    There was no better time than the holiday season to remind a lonely man just how _lonely_ he was. 

    Historia had not been there to save him from himself this time, and, despite knowing Mike to be available most days, international telecommunications was a luxury neither of them could afford too often. However, if Erwin had expected Levi to be the one to salve him, his prolonged absence was a matter he’d greatly unforeseen, and the more days passed, the more Erwin abandoned the hope to see him burst through the front door.

    He could have sought to meet up with other people instead if he only bothered to leave the house. He could have called Levi, but it’d only make him come off as needy and he already knew Levi would hang up on him in a matter of seconds with a choked out snort. He could have done many things to make those days better, but there was still a stubborn part of himself that thrived in self flagellation.

    Yet, he pulled through, by the skin of his teeth, exhausting every option at keeping his mind somewhat busy up to the very last day – which had started with an aborted attempt at following Levi’s advice and picking up on some kind of exercising, only to crumble under bittersweet frustration after a single push-up that ended up with him landing face first on the carpet.

    And so, the only other distraction Erwin found was to listen through every one of Pixis’ compositions where he had been the main cellist on the official record – which were a lot more than he remembered. A mindless, lazy task he hoped would smack him with enough bravery to finally write that letter – it didn’t. At least, Erwin realised the music had accompanied him for the whole afternoon and now that the night was just growing, had drained him of his already scarce energy. Perhaps he’d pretend to an early night.

    Erwin was halfway through standing up, the idea of drawing himself a bath in mind when the strident buzzer of the intercom rang twice – short, taut and narked, just like the man Erwin immediately recognized behind the sounds. He jumped out of his seat and almost ran to the door. Levi let himself in, not bothering with any proper greeting, New Year’s wish or explanation and darted straight to the kitchen as soon as he kicked his boots off to help himself with a bottle of white wine from the fridge. Erwin’s gaze followed him from afar, an honest smile pulling at his lips.

    Putting down the two glasses filled to the rim on top of the mess Erwin had left on the coffee table with an annoyed grunt, Levi threw himself on the sofa. His eyes instantly flew to the cellos that had collected dust, and Erwin took it upon to wipe Levi’s usual one quickly and adjust the strings in a wordless and comfortable quietness.

    And when the air finally filled with the – slightly rusty – vibrato, Erwin welcomed it like a grace, and he reckoned that the sweet taste of the wine he shared with Levi promised the return of better days already.

    Erwin also reckoned, not without a frustrated sigh, that the cello’s strings were reaching the end of their lifespan. Thus, after leaving his student’s house the following day, he took the detour through Rue de Rome. He passed the shop front of his usual supplier from years ago and instead pushed the glassdoor of Farlan’s shop without thinking. 

    He found the young man behind the counter, a row of clarinets between him and the customer he was advising. Erwin took his time to browse through the shelves, picked up several sets of strings from brands he’d never heard of, before he finally settled for the choice he knew to be the finest. The price had gone up considerably throughout the years, not that it’d made Erwin reconsider his choice in the slightest; Levi’s enthralling playing deserved nothing short of what was best. 

    By the time he’d made up his mind, Erwin noticed that the shop was empty, except for Farlan who was carefully replacing the shiny instruments back on their display shelves. Erwin walked over the counter and pulled his credit card out of his wallet, exchanging small talk with the blond while he finished his task. A grin tore Farlan’s face when he picked up the set of strings from Erwin.

“Has that midget set the strings of your cello on fire yet?” he asked with a smug laugh.

    Erwin chuckled at the image of Levi brushing the bow against the instrument with such vehemence and fury that it’d ignite sparkles. It wasn’t such a stretch to imagine, he admitted with a hint of both fear and wonder.

“Not yet, surprisingly.”

    Farlan replied with another laugh, noting down the reference of Erwin’s purchase in his account book.

“So, is this where he’s disappeared to then?” Farlan began, “He’s barely shown his face here in months, I wondered what he’d been up to.”

“Oh.” Erwin ducked his head slightly, penitence warming at his cheeks.

“Ah, wait, don’t worry about it,” Farlan hastened to explain, waving his hand in the empty space between them. “He has the habit of disappearing without notice all the time, so don’t fret. I’m glad he’s been spending his time practicing with you rather than seeking trouble again.”

    Erwin raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes away from Farlan as he handed him a small plastic bag with his purchase. There was something rather intriguing about Farlan’s choice of words that roused Erwin’s curiosity regarding Levi once more. He tugged at his lower lip lightly, refraining himself from being nosy.

“I’m quite surprised though,” Farlan resumed, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his face in his palms. The gesture meant Erwin was going to get the answers to the questions he elected better not to ask. “It’s not in Levi’s habits to make friends. Like, ever. Honestly, and I don’t mean to brag about this, I’m the only friend he’s ever got.”

    _Friend_. There was this word again, which Erwin did not dare to use but sat warmer and warmer in his chest each time he heard it.

    At this point, Erwin would have been a fool not to take the bait.

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah, well you know, Levi has never really been… How would you call it? An easy person to be around. These past years are the most tamed he’s ever been but–” Farlan pushed himself up again, leaning on the wall behind him and crossing his arms. “You know, in high-school, Levi was quite the terror. He got into fights with everyone all the time and spent more time in detention than not.” Farlan paused with a thoughtful smile. “He’d already been expelled from a couple of schools before that, I think nobody expected him to last there too long either.”

    Erwin nodded, unsure if he wanted to say something to either acknowledge Farlan’s statement or encourage him to go further. Levi never spoke of his past to Erwin, and if he did, it was only in vague, brief mentions, and having Farlan supplying it so carelessly seemed unfair. But Erwin wasn’t going to stop the man either, and so, simply stood there and awaited what Farlan would decide to do next.

“We only got a glimpse of Levi’s good side for the first time after he joined the music club at school. To be honest, the first time I saw his face there I was quite pissed. I think we all expected him to come here only to make more trouble but… He picked up the old cello sitting there and that must have been the first time I saw something other than fury on his face. Honestly it was pretty unsettling, and probably scarier.” Farlan finished with a light chuckle.

    Erwin imitated him, remembering the odd feeling of impending doom whenever Levi suddenly went from boiling with rage to silent and composed.

“Yes, I believe you.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen it too,” Farlan prompted with a nod.

“So, how did that go?” It felt safer to ask questions now that the subject had shifted onto something that could pass as strict professional interest.

“Honestly? It was terrible. But nobody dared to tell him. We were just all relieved that it seemed to calm him down, so the teacher let him be, even if we were all fearing going deaf.”

“I can definitely relate to that,” Erwin brought a finger at his temple. “But cello does has that effect on him, doesn’t it?”

“It does. I think music does that to us all.”

    Erwin hummed quietly in agreement. 

“And he made progress very quickly. That was quite intriguing, to see him so relaxed and… bare. Took me a while, but in the end I dared to talk to him. And it all went up from there. Well, not quite, he’s definitely got thick skin, but…” Farlan smiled.

“I can imagine that it wasn’t so easy.”

“Oh no, absolutely not. But, I guess that’s what having a crush on someone does to you, makes you quite bold.”

    Farlan eyes shot wide open as soon as he finished his sentence, and Erwin replied with a sudden frown. He had not expected that.

    Farlan coughed and quickly picked up an empty glass and filled it with water from a clay jug. He drank slowly, attempting to hide the redness in his cheeks behind his hand. The pause granted Erwin enough time to process Farlan’s accidental confession, and he quickly realised he couldn’t say he even had an opinion on the matter, never having been confronted with someone who held interest in people of the same sex – and if it had been the case, it had never been brought up to Erwin’s knowledge. He decided to let go of his sudden stupor, and untied his eyebrows. It wasn’t in his place to judge anyway.

    The empty glass rattled against the wooden counter, and Farlan only shrugged at Erwin’s lack of reaction.

“Of course it ended there,” he resumed in a forced casual tone. “You’ll never meet anyone who’s uninterested in human interactions as much as Levi, let alone relationships. Which is understandable, considering…” Farlan shook his head, sliding the glass against the register. “I think just a friendship was already overwhelming enough for the poor wild cat. Or at least, what we have is the closest thing from a friendship Levi ever had. Of course now there’s Isabelle too, though Levi would argue that she’s just another stray cat, I know he cares about her deeply, and the feeling is mutual. I think she helped him settle down a bit.”

“Settle down?”

“Let’s just say… Levi is… Well, he definitely knows how to make trouble happen, more than I wish he did. So, it’s good to see him so civilised nowadays.”

    Ewin struggled to find the right words – any word at all. He was battling between the dire need to ask more, to satisfy his curiosity that had never quite faltered when it came to Levi, and the still overwhelming flood of Farlan’s earlier slip. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, he tried to reason himself, but as he was mindlessly flipping through the pages of a book he did not remember picking up in the quiet dimness of the night peering into his home, that was all he could think about. He found himself lost in the mechanics of his brain that always craved to be fuled with new thoughts to explore, and admittedly, Erwin found he’d never given the issue of people being attracted to the same sex any thought.

    The only bits of recollection his mind managed to retreive were but crude jokes and warnings he’d heard throughout his life, well intended but ill spoken advice from various figures – teachers, preachers but also friends and strangers – about the sinful abherration, the danger of fraternisation during his military days, and more recently, AIDS – _gay cancer_. He’d only ever heard about homosexuals in a bad spite, referring to them as sex-obsessed perverts, deviants, mentally deficient people and exuberant transvestites. Erwin did not like it, only having one side of the coin to work with; he was too pragmatic to let himself be convinced with so little, and so, he spent the whole evening debating with himself, forcing the stereotypes he’d been fed his whole life out of his thoughts.

    Farlan stood as a good counter-example, for he was nothing like homosexuals have always made to be pictured as; he was nothing but your average man in every aspect, as far as Erwin had been able to witness. It made him wonder how many other people in that case he’d ever encountered, befriended during his life. There was a slight sadness pinching at his heart, in a rather misplaced compassion as, for Erwin, too, had become a marginalised subject that only tore either pity or disgust from his peers the day he lost his arm. Erwin then decided, upon realising that something so inconsequential was seen as such shameful vice, that he could not care less about it, as long as it did not harm him. 

    His mind wandered to Levi for a brief moment, now wondering if he was like Farlan too, and the only conclusion he drew was that sharing a bed with Levi had resulted in an attempted murder rather than any kind of attempted seduction. Erwin laughed at the thought of Levi actually flirting, which did not suit him in the slightest, and he quickly remembered both Isabelle and Farlan hinting at his lack of interest in the matter entirely. That too, was a rather intriguing concept to Erwin, and he fell asleep working through the premise of his discourse, Levi’s name carved in his brain. 

 

\- - -

 

    The bedroom was still dark when Erwin’s eyes jerked open. It took him a few seconds to process his surroundings and assess the distress of his body. He was hot, clammy and his heart hammered painfully against his ribs – pulse like tremor in his ears, eyes and limbs. Yet, the usual, terror, nausea and grief that always came with his nightmares were peculiarly missing. The only discomfort he felt was the aching weight pulsing at his groin.

    His eyes widened at the realisation of what exactly this ache was, and sudden bits of his dream forced themselves into his brain. They were hazy and blurry, but there was no mistaking their carnal nature. An oddly familiar, softly curved and lithe body laying stretched beneath him, _both_ his hands burrowed in the cloud-like sheets at each side of the rounded shoulders. His own breath erratic burning, his body swaying in rhythm with sighs and gasps, and the wet heat emanating from this faceless figure. Faceless, but not _nameless_.

    Erwin shook his head and turned to the side to hide his face in the pillows, and the mere friction of fabric against the stretched and sensitive skin between his legs tore a muffled cry out of his gritted teeth. 

    He could not pinpoint what confounded him the most in his haze: waking up painfully aroused and longing for a touch, a release, he’d not indulged himself in for years – and that, despite his aborted attempts which never concluded in anything but more frustration – or finding out that, whatever feminine figure had stirred such a reaction from his body actually wore a name. A name contradicting with every aspect of the body Erwin remembered, but that he knew for certain, the way dreams convince you of the most preposterous things: Levi.

    Erwin was too groggy and hot for any reasonable thinking to take his attention away from his discomfort. He threw the heavy and unbearably sultry covers away, and the cold air of the room smacked him with shudders that ran from head to toes. His hand was already travelling down the soft fabric of his damp t-shirt, and, all reason evaporated from his mind the moment it passed the waistline of his pyjama bottoms. 

    It had been years since his body had reacted so vividly to this primal, carnal instinct, and it left Erwin wiping his hand and stomach somewhere against the sheets within the minute, breathless.

    He fell back on the mattress, not bothering to care about the viscosity sticking to the covers when he pulled them back over himself, his body heavy with sleep, his muscles strained but more honeyed that they’d been in a very long time. He dived into a restful slumber before his mind could ignite with panic at the fact that what he’d just done had sparked from the – very distorted – image of Levi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags/warnings:  
> \- questionable self-medication  
> \- referenced homophobia  
> \- implicit sexual content


	7. CODA - chapter vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back! Sorry about the delay between the two chapters, I've been very busy at work this month, and the upcoming storyline had to go through a lot of minor changes and figuring out where to put what forced me to write a few chapters ahead of publishing, to make sure everything flowed the way it should. Hopefully, the next chapter won't take as long to come out (:
> 
> As usual, props to my two girls [Melody_Of_The_River](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Of_The_River/pseuds/Melody_Of_The_River) and [TheIndifferentDroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid) for beta-reading this one.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> (additional tags/warnings in the end notes)

 

 

    Erwin put his pen between the two spread pages of his notebook and rubbed his eyelids. Stretching his shoulders with a loud pop, he peered a glance at the clock – forty seven past nine. He sucked in an annoyed breath and hurried to his feet, the notebook almost slipping from his lap as he did. He had lost track of time so easily whilst engulfed in the lines of its pages; the ball of the pen had glided effortlessly against the silken paper, black dots and bridges, and Erwin had forgotten about all else. 

    Writing music again felt foreign at first, he had pledged against it a lifetime ago, and it had since evolved into a deep-rooted fear. But these notes were not his own; Erwin was merely their messenger. They were Levi’s. It’s something he had picked up lately, transcribing Levi’s music – something he did in secret, at first behind walls, but it had been a while since Levi had stopped pushing him away when playing, and Erwin now scribbled illegible notes in the man's blind-spot, the content of the pages hidden in his own shadow. When Levi left, Erwin hurried to retranscribe them properly,before his messy writing lost its sense. Within the few weeks he’d started this task, he had blackened dozens of pages with the ghost of Levi’s fleeting notes for his own selfish pleasure, as he couldn't let such heartfelt music fade away into echo.

     Erwin sighed, only now realising the dead silence looming over the room – it had been so crowded with the silent music playing inside Erwin’s head mere seconds ago – and headed to the bedroom to retrieve one of his students' music sheets that he should have been looking over instead of his own – Levi’s – before tomorrow’s lesson. 

     Passing through the main corridor, a slouchy shape caught his eyes. He flicked the light switch on to find Levi’s duffle bag abandoned next to the front door.

     Erwin cautiously stepped towards it, a growing curiosity tearing him from his destination. It was Friday night, he realised, and the extra bag Levi never failed to bring with him on such days, which had always been a source of endless questions on Erwin’s end, seemed to have been carelessly left behind in the haste of Levi’s departure. Erwin knew better than sticking his nose around, but now that it was there, unguarded, he seriously contemplated peeking in. He stopped before it, eyes cast down like a predator ready to sneak on his prey.

     However, the memory of the brief interaction he’d had with Farlan a few weeks earlier froze Erwin in his query; getting information from Levi – or rather, being fed some – against his will had left him with a bittersweet aftertaste – amongst other occurrences that he’d rather not think about. He turned his head to the phone table between the bedroom and bathroom door, and walked to it. Propping the receiver between his shoulder and cheek, he typed the ten digits of Levi’s phone number.

     Isabelle’s chirpy voice greeted him at the other end.

 “Hello?”

“Good evening Isabelle, I’m sorry to call in so late.”

“Monsieur Erwin?” She then huffed lightly, “So _late_? How _old_ are you?”

“Too old, I’m afraid,” Erwin admitted sheepishly.

“I’m gonna assume that it’s not me you wanted to talk to? But Levi’s out for the night.”

“Is he?” Erwin’s high-pitched tone betrayed his curiosity. “He forgot one of his bags at mine when he left earlier, I thought he might need it.”

“Oh.” There was a long silence, followed by another exclamation. “Oh! The canvas one?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Oh,” she repeated with that same panicked voice, “he must be so pissed right now.”

     Erwin turned slightly to throw another glance at the bag, like a sudden itch.

“Do you want me to bring it back to you?”

“I thought you were _old_ and that it was _late_ ,” she retorted.

     It was no mystery who had taught her such snapping raillery.

“I don’t mind.”

“Nice! Thank you! Although I’m not sure that… Hm. Or maybe we could…? Oh, wait!” she suddenly yelled, which made Erwin jump slightly. “You live in Batignolles, dontcha?”

     Erwin struggled to get his grip back on the receiver.

“Huh– Yes, I do.”

“Okay, perfect. Let’s meet halfway then. Can you get to Pigalle station?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Cool! See you there, then!” 

    There was a loud crashing sound on Isabelle’s end and the line went silent.

    It was almost half past ten when the two of them found each other outside the metro station. Worry was written all over the girl’s features when Erwin handed her the bag – which he had _not_ opened to look inside. She did not seem as concerned as Erwin about Levi’s privacy and almost plunged her head inside to confirm its content. She closed it again, threw a quick glance at her iridescent pink watch and winced.

“It’s probably too late already, but whatever, I’m bored tonight anyway.”

“Too late?” he teased with the same tone Isabelle had used against him earlier.

    She replied by sticking her tongue out. Erwin decided to seize his chance to satiate his interest.

“What is Levi even up to with that anyway?” he asked, chin pointed to the bag Isabelle had thrown over one shoulder.

“Huh? You don’t know?”

“Should I?”

    She grinned wildly, teeth and gums wearing pride.

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?”

    Erwin nodded, excitement flaring in his chest. She turned around and began hopping away, Erwin at her heels. His eyes were running all over the crowded street – women showing too much skin despite the icy cold and swaying their hips endearingly, loud men cat calling them, a can of cheap beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, neon lights painting streaks of purple and red and green all over the landscape. There was a charm to the scenery nonetheless, something very Parisian about the endless boulevard of cabarets, theaters, clubs and bars that bloomed lively no matter the time of the night or year.

    This charm, however, slowly burnt out as Isabelle rounded street corners and led Erwin into a maze of streets that grew narrower and dimmer as they wandered further. He picked up the pace, avoiding eye contact with the malicious shadows that lurked in every corner.

“Isabelle?” he called quietly.

“We’re almost there, don’t worry,” she smiled.

“I’m not worried, I just…” 

    Isabelle leaned against him and snaked her arm around Erwin’s, stealing his protective role and making it hers, warm and confident shield in the palm of her hand. She had this uncanny knack for making Erwin feel like he was the child instead – or, a vulnerable elderly to be watched after – but her intentions shone pure, and her benevolence couldn’t possibly be mistaken for pity. It was a virtue Erwin meant to cherish.

    She stopped abruptly in front a decaying archway before Erwin could find a way to voice his thoughts. Muffled beats rumbled against the cardboard covered windows, and if it weren’t for the small group of people smoking in the shadow of the passage, Erwin would have believed the building to be long abandoned. 

     Isabelle led him inside, still hung at his arm, pushing the heavy door and stepped in with confidence. The loud electronic music assaulted him, as well as the cloud of smoke and sweat that carried a foul stench of cheap liquor and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint but made his stomach flip. They climbed down the dimly lit staircase and reached a wide, dark room where Erwin’s every sense was being tested. 

     He scanned the room quickly, having to squint his eyes to decipher anything in such darkness – the few lights were but scarce red neon lights and flickering bulbs that hung from the ceiling. Under the lingering, reeking fog, tables were scattered, their surface glowing sticky, most of them surrounded by wavering shady looking men and women. The latter were mostly dressed in revealing clothing - Erwin sympathized with them; the mercury had risen dramatically in the moist and stale air. Music was thudding, voices blaring coarse and crude, faces and bodies ranging from shabby to obscene; the whole scene made Erwin stand out for every reason but his amputated arm.

     He had not noticed Isabelle nudging at his empty sleeve until she pulled at it, inviting Erwin to follow her to the bar. As they passed it, a group of women stared at Erwin openly, lust and greed in their eyes and lips, heat and purpose in the palms of hands that brushed at his shoulders, waist, thighs. He shivered and hurried to tear himself from their claws – bumping into dancers and tables, eyes stuck firmly on the line between Isabelle’s pigtails. 

     At the other side of the room, they reached another staircase leading down. Isabelle threw a quick glance around before she climbed down. Erwin followed her, and quickly realised that using the rails for support in this oxygen deprived basement was a dire mistake; his hand was now coated with something dark and sticky. He winced and looked down, barely making out the edge of each step. His head was buzzing with so much auditory stimulation that it took him a few seconds to notice the change; the beat of the music had drowned under screams and wails of a musky crowd. He dared a quick glance up as he reached the last steps, and before he could register what exactly laid before him, Isabelle sighed and leaned on her tiptoes, clutched around Erwin’s arm for balance.

“What a fucking moron!” she groaned, eyes searching above the dozens of heads before her. “I can’t believe he went in anyway! He’s gonna lose _another_ tooth.”

    Erwin’s eyebrows arched up, and instead of asking, decided to follow her gaze. It was when he finally made sense of the room. The crowd gathered in a circle around the only lightbulb in the centre of the room. A fighting pit. Two bare chested ripped men were circling on the dusty ground, arms up in guard. One of the two, the smaller one, made a swift dive ahead, bare glistening fists swinging in a blur straight to the other’s sternum.

    Erwin’s jaw dropped agape and he walked forwards, ignoring the wall of drunk and sweaty howling men and snaked closer to the pit. He caught sight of the assailant stumbling back, and shaking his hands with a wince. He threw his head back, and the light shone upon his face as the strands of coal hair that had strayed from the knot on top of his head uncovered his forehead. Under the shadows, the sheen of sweat and the smears of blood, Erwin immediately recognised the most familiar features: Levi’s.

    Erwin barely had time to register the picture – Levi dressed in nothing but his usual black slacks sat low on his carved hips, the deep valleys of his lithe muscles striking against his ghastly skin, glowing with sweat and drops of blood that rolled down until they got lost in the dark line of thick hairs down his abdomen, eyes like melted steel, red and fiery – before Levi propelled himself on his calves and jumped to his opponent hunched over and coughing, and shoved one elbow to the nape, sending him down to bite the dust with a loud wail. The sudden uproar of the crowd almost pierced through Erwin’s eardrums, and he took a few steps back to maintain his balance.

“Woah, he actually did it!” Isabelle yapped as she hopped up and down next to him.

    He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Levi; the way he wiped his red mouth with the back of his arm, spat at his feet and ran fingers to his wet hair to re-tie it, and the oh so taunting glare he was throwing to his faceless audience, full of disdain and menace.

“Levi!” Isabelle bawled, stretched on her toes and holding the bag up. “Do you think he still has all his teeth in?” she mumbled as she scooted over to stand in front of Erwin.

    His eyes flicked back down, and for a second, met Levi’s gaze. Levi froze mid-stretch, eyebrows arched up and took wide strides forwards. He climbed out of the pit, jostling the people cheering him with powerful shoulder strokes.

“Are you crazy?” Isabelle scolded the moment Levi was within hearing distance. “Going in without your gum-shield or your knuckle-wraps? Are you trying to break something or what?”

“Yeah, whatever. Give me that,” Levi snatched the bag from Isabelle’s grip and fumbled inside to retrieve a towel and a water bottle. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re not being too much of an idiot,” she crossed her arms with a pout. “Say ‘ah’.”

“My teeth are fine, leave it.”

    He propped the towel around his shoulders after wiping most of the sweat and blood from his skin, and took large gulps from the water bottle. His eyes rested on Erwin, a frown crinkling the space between his brows, that made him shift his weight uncomfortably. Levi turned back to Isabelle.

“Why the hell did you bring _him_ here?”

“He had your stuff.”

    Levi rolled his eyes.

“So what? He didn’t have to come–”

    A strident whistle coming from the pit caught his words, and he snapped his head back to the centre of the room. Down were two men already tangled in a heap of sweaty limbs, and the deafening cheers rose once more.

“Shit, I lost my cue,” Levi muttered as he watched the two new opponents collide into one another with brutal force.

“It’s fine, you can fight again next week.”

    Levi finally tore his gaze away from the fight and his breath rustled roughly, coated thick with a bittersweet smell of liquor and cold tobacco.

“Whatever,” he pushed people out of his way, his feet unsteady for a moment. “Let’s go up, you can’t fucking breathe in here.”

    Erwin was pretty convinced that the air wasn’t much more breathable on the upper floor but decided not to comment on it – he’d rather not fuel Levi’s already foul temper. They headed away, and after Levi made a slight detour to pick up his earnings and stuffed a small pile of banknotes in his back pocket, climbed back upstairs. As they did, Levi fished a plain black t-shirt out of his bag and put it on under Erwin's clouded gaze, walking behind, struggling still to catch sense of the unexpected turn of his evening. He flicked his tongue over his dry lips as the fabric slid down the angular curves of Levi’s lower back. He mused over the fragment of the fight he just witnessed – Levi with all the grace of a cat and sheer brutality of a famished lion, which stirred a nameless admiration, if not fear, deep within his core.

“Thirsty?”

    Erwin blinked rapidly, halting himself a few centimeters shy of bumping into Levi. He looked down to him as he lit up a cigarette, and considered the question. Truthfully, he was parched, like all the water had evaporated from him and was now swirling in the dense fog looming above their heads.

    Erwin only nodded, still mildly uncomfortable and almost dreading to face yet another storm from Levi if he dared to speak up; it may have been a while since he’d felt threatened by the rusty steel of his shrewd eyes, but Erwin deemed he had barely scratched at the surface of the potential for destruction Levi held.

    Both Levi and Isabelle headed towards the bar, straight for the same herd of women – prostitutes – that had cooed at Erwin earlier. He followed reluctantly and made sure to keep himself out of their reach. To his surprise, Levi did not stop there and slipped right through them, ordered drinks at the bar and turned around to lean against it. He held his hand out to one of them, presumably the oldest, who dropped a velvet pouch inside his palm. Erwin dared to walk closer – it seemed the women’s attention was on Levi this time – intrigued.

    Levi untied the pouch’s cords and retrieved both his earrings. Erwin scanned over Levi’s company, eyebrows low, searching for clues – who exactly was this woman, for Levi to entrust her with something so precious? 

    She looked well over fifty, but Erwin wondered if perhaps her lifestyle had not affected her appearance more than the years. Make-up was caked in layers on her dry face, glossy on her lips and _way too blue_ around her eyes, all framed with thin, bright red dyed hair that did a poor job at concealing the grey underneath. Erwin immediately regretted prying a glance down only to find sagging breasts adorned with blurry rose tattoos almost pouring out of a lacy satin sleeveless top.

    Not only was Erwin as clueless as before, but now, there was an appalling sight etched into his retina.

“You should be careful with that beautiful face of yours honey,” she sang, her voice raw with decades of smoking, brushing her fingers against Levi’s cheek, who did not flinch. “What will you do once that hot devil’s grin of yours has been ripped of all its teeth, hm?”

“What is it with y’all and my teeth? Can’t you leave them alone?”

    Her long, bony fingers played with Levi’s small ponytail, and Erwin wondered just how long it would be before Levi smacked her away. But instead of tensing up the way he always did at any kind of physical contact, he only dipped his head down, arms crossed in an oddly relaxed manner, the ghost of a smile hidden in the dark shadows.

“Honey, do you know how rare it is to find a man as sexy as you around here?” she mewled. “We’re only making sure you don’t waste your potential away.”

“If that happens, you know, we’ll still be here to take care of you dear,” another much younger one teased with a wink. Her words made all the other girls around them nod eagerly.

“You’re all disgusting,” Levi groaned after lighting up a cigarette. He then turned to the oldest one. “You’re old enough to be my mother, that’s really fucking gross.”

    She giggled, a hearty garish sound, hand over her mouth.

“What can I say? You aged like fine wine, my dear.”

“And you didn’t,” Levi retorted, his nostrils flared.

    Laughter erupted all around, and a nameless hand swatted Levi’s arm gently.

“Always so charming,” she continued with a suave voice. “You sure know the way to a woman’s heart, don’t you?”

“Money is the way to y’all’s hearts.”

“Isn’t it the same for everyone though?” a third one chimed in.

    Levi rolled his eyes and peered an impatient glance at the bartender.

“What about you honey?” the wrinkled hand enclosed around Levi’s arm with red sparkly claws. “When will a rich, sweet, hunky fellow win your heart over, hm?”

    Levi snorted loudly as his only response.

“Such a shame.”

“So,” a petite blonde one dressed in a flashy red lace suit chirped, “that handsome fellow you brought with you…” she batted her eyelashes at Erwin, so long they cast shadows over her eyes. He leaned back slightly. “Not yours then?”

    Levi looked up to Erwin with a huge, mischievous grin and shrugged.

“I don’t care about him. He’s all yours, as far as I’m concerned.”

    Suddenly, all eyes fell onto Erwin, bright and hungry. His cheeks flared with hot red. The girl sitting next to Levi leaned in to whisper something at him, her voice deliberately loud enough for Erwin to catch.

“What are you waiting for then? Introduce us. I bet he has a decent wallet… amongst other things,” she finished with so much lust in her voice that Erwin coughed in hopes of concealing his discomfort.

    A heavy silence followed, and, when a hand snaked around his shoulder, Erwin stammered hazy syllables, the words drowned under the suffocating air. He searched for Levi’s gaze, and when he found it, cursed him for the obvious entertainment he was getting out of the situation.

“Thank you for your interest but I think I’ll pass,” he managed to utter despite the burning heat at his cheeks.

    Levi grabbed two of the three glasses that had appeared on the bar and shoved one into Erwin’s hand; it smelled like cheap rum.

“You can’t even get an old crippled man who’s been sexually frustrated for years,” he deadpanned. “Time to step up your game, ladies.” Levi took a long sip, almost emptying the content of his glass at once. “Or, for the lost causes, you’d be happy to know that the car industry is currently hiring.”

    He croaked out a coarse laugh at his own joke, which granted him to be gently smacked by several hands.

“Get the hell out of here, you rascal,” the old one huffed as Isabelle patted her on the back.

    Levi finished his drink with a snort and stood up. He slammed a few notes on the bar and picked up the third glass he’d ordered. He walked away and signed for Erwin to follow. He looked over at Isabelle, who only waved at him with a smile before turning her attention to one of the girls’ necklace with glee in her eyes.

    He joined Levi at a table in a corner of the room, the two of them careful not to touch its surface more than necessary – it was odd that Levi willingly lingered in such a filthy place. They remained silent for a moment and even the background music seemed quieter – or Erwin had simply gotten used to it. Erwin sipped slowly, wincing when the pungent liquor poured down his throat like fire. He took another sip nonetheless as he scanned the room once more. He was struggling to take in whatever this was, and the questions flooding his mind did not help him in the slightest; none of them seemed appropriate to be asked, and he didn’t know how to word them properly. In the end, he settled for the easiest one.

“I didn’t know you boxed,” he started cautiously as he put his drink down.

“Just a way to make some extra cash. Honest work doesn’t pay so well.”

“You seem pretty good at it.”

    Levi shrugged and sat back, resting his drink over his crossed legs.

“I fought like shit today. You can’t fucking move in those jeans. And despite what everyone seems to think, I do not want to get more teeth knocked out.”

    Erwin remembered catching the glint of a chrome-plated premolar the scarce times Levi’s lips had stretched wide enough to unveil it. 

“Can’t believe I forgot to take my stuff when I left,” he grumbled, more for himself than for Erwin’s ears.

“From what I witnessed, I’d say you know what you’re doing, still.”

“ _Tch_. It’s not rocket science. I simply have the advantage of being short. Most dudes never fought against someone so small, so they don’t know how to handle it. Makes it quite easy for me.”

    Erwin nodded pensively. His eyes kept coming back to the swollen cut at Levi’s brow bone.

“So, this is what you do on Friday nights then,” he thought aloud.

“Huh– Yes?”

“I was wondering.”

    Levi’s eyebrows arched up.

“Were you now?”

“I suppose so,” Erwin admitted. “I’ve been curious about the bag and…” he gestured vaguely at Levi’s face.

“You could have just asked, you know.”

    Erwin opened his mouth to empty words, and decided to bring his glass to his parted lips instead.

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

    Silence fell back between them. A headache was starting to creep at Erwin; he couldn’t tell if it was from the heavy air, the unbearable thud of the music or the way the cheap rum swirled in his stomach – probably a bit of each. He shifted in his seat and tapped his fingers lightly against the table, the tips sticking to it.

    A loud rattle of glass against wood tore him from his drift. He looked up Levi’s empty glass, then to the man himself.

“What?”

    Erwin shot one eyebrow up.

“You’ve got something to say,” Levi said almost accusingly.

“I… No. I mean–” he shook his head. “Don’t worry.”

“What?” Levi pressed.

“Forget it.”

    Levi leaned forwards, resting his chin in the heel of his hand to scrutinise Erwin openly.

“You either look like you’ve been constipated for weeks and about to let it out, and if that’s the case, bathroom’s there,” he pointed his head to a dark corner of the room, “or you have something to say.”

“It’s just–” Erwin sighed with a tilt of his head. “I don’t know where to even start.”

    Levi hummed and sank his head further down his hand, clearly waiting for Erwin to speak up.

“So, this place… It’s…” Erwin gestured his hand around and let it flop back to his thigh.

“It’s a bar.”

“Yes, I noticed. It’s not…”

    His struggle was thankfully cut short when Isabelle approached their table, holding two glasses in her hands. She put them down and used Levi’s scalp as an armrest despite his protesting grunt. He yanked her away and squinted his eyes at her, then the drinks, and back at her. Isabelle smiled dubiously and leaned down between the two men.

“A gift. I think they’re trying to get a hold of Erwin,” she whispered with her forefinger pointed towards the group of girls still sat at the bar.

    Levi snorted.

“Which one?”

“All of them!”

    At that, he failed to hold in a loud laugh. He pulled a cigarette out of his pack and lit it, dramatically leaning over the table closer to Erwin, his eyebrows up.

“Are you sure you’re not interested?” he asked in a puff of smoke. “I’m sure they will give you a discount. Or a group price,” he added with another laugh, pleased with himself – and Erwin suspected, outright drunk at this point. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Erwin assured, already digging in the new glass of liquor.

    Levi clicked his tongue.

“You look like you could use some fun, you know. You look very, hm… Uptight.”

“There are some kinds of fun I’d rather not have,” Erwin replied with a concerned smile.

“Coward.”

    It was Erwin’s turn to laugh.

“Why? Is it some fun _you_ have?”

“That’s fucking gross,” he spat. “And so are tiddies.”

“What do you know? You’ve never tried.” Isabelle teased. “I thought you liked them hairy and attached to a man’s chest.”

“So? Is there a point you’re trying to make? Because I don’t fucking see it,” he hissed, throwing a quick glance at Erwin.

    Erwin sank against the back of his chair. His eyelids fluttered at the disclosure, and he had to force the echoes of Farlan’s words away before they rushed back to him. The conclusion that Levi wasn’t into anything at all had drawn itself rather effortlessly, but the seed of doubt had subsided into Erwin’s mind, which had been keen to trick him more than he was comfortable admitting, by relentlessly featuring Levi in heated dreams that always left him both aching and confounded – undoubtedly triggered by his serious lack of involvement with his libido.

    He deemed to run away from the memories of waking up in drenched sheets, panting – _not_ in dread and terror, but rather aching arousal – and instead focused on the childish bickering between Isabelle and Levi, who tugged at her arm until she bent down to his level.

“Go and annoy someone else with that romance bullshit.”

    Isabelle crossed her arms with an accusing pout and flicked her fingers at the top of Levi’s head.

“But I like annoying you,” she said, taking a few steps backwards.

    Levi quickly caught her wrist, and the way he barely managed to catch his balance by slamming his other arm on the table as he did so did not go unnoticed by Erwin.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

    She put her hand atop Levi’s and uncurled his fingers.

“Thought you wanted me gone, idiot. And Auntie Athena said she’d give me make-up tricks.”

    Levi made a disgusted face, nose wrinkled and tongue peeking out.

“She’s the last person you want to get beauty advice from, you crazy fool.”

    Isabelle spun away and blew a kiss at Levi with a wink.

“Don’t be jealous, I’ll share them with you too!”

    Erwin watched her trot back to the bar, swirling his drink mindlessly. It wasn’t long until all pairs of kohl lined eyes turned to him, and he was pretty sure one of them winked at him, but in the poor lighting, it was hard to tell. He sipped slowly, glancing still when their attention switched to Isabelle, coming back to sit on one of the girls’ lap.

“What now?”

    Erwin turned his head back to Levi. His eyes were squinted, and Erwin read on his scowl that he may have been wearing his bemusement a bit too openly on his face. He lowered his glass to the table.

“Auntie Athena?” he asked. “Are they Isabelle’s family?”

“Thank god no,” Levi huffed, “she may be a brat but she deserves better than that,” he added, waving his hand towards the group.

    Erwin tilted his head, eyebrows pulled together with more questions.

“Yours, then?” he tempted.

    Levi froze mid-movement, eyes small and suspicious, before shrugging and pouring the last of his drink down his throat.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

    Erwin sat back with a quiet “oh”. By now, he had accepted Levi to have a fairly peculiar background, but he’d not anticipated just how much. There were still many holes to fill, but the scarce pieces he’d recovered drafted a rather uncanny picture. It only made his fascination for Levi grow.

    His and Levi’s differences in character were striking, so much that Erwin still wondered how they ended up pairing so spontaneously. However, the truth was that, despite the shattered bits of his own past, Erwin had grown up in a quiet suburban town south of London with his father, well-off and cultivated, who had sent him to the best schools, introduced him to the most enlightened crowd and taught him sophistication. He’d never had any crazy cat lady aunt, drunk and depressed uncle or gay cousin to tarnish the stainless picture. All his misery, Erwin brought it upon himself.

    Levi had taken the same road from the other end; came from, it seemed, a dark path and strived to work his way up. It made sense now, that the two of them eventually met somewhere in the middle.

“Whatever,” Levi cleared his throat, eyes on his empty glass. “So, you’re here, uh?”

    Erwin raised an eyebrow.

“You fit like an elephant in a china store, everyone’s looking at you,” Levi explained, a sinister flavour in his voice. “And I don’t just mean the thirsty ladies.”

“I… Yes, I guess so,” the sudden sour tone reminded Erwin how displeased Levi had been to find him there. “That’s not the typical environment I’m used to,” he tried cautiously, unsure how to handle Levi, let alone a drunk Levi.

    To his surprise, he only snorted through a smirk and pointed to Erwin’s glass.

“No shit. Drink some more, it’ll ease into you.”

    He gladly took Levi up on his offer, and the only sound passing through them for the next minutes was but a fretful cacophony of distant laughter and beats sputtering out of the speakers. Erwin could feel it hammering like a dull pulse forcing itself through the maze of his brain, in ways that made him squint with discomfort. He rubbed the space between his eyebrows and instantly regretted it when the tip of his fingers gummed at his skin. He sighed, hand falling away from the table, and set his gaze onto Levi.

    He was not paying Erwin any attention, and instead, kept looking over to the side with jittery eyes. His hands drummed against the table, and the features on his face kept getting tighter with each passing moment, trembling frown and clenched jaws. Erwin watched him behind his glass, unsure as to what he could do to break the tension.

    He followed Levi’s gaze, which fell onto a table to his left, to meet three pairs of eyes blown wide with laughter, right onto Erwin’s empty sleeve. He sighed as the three men suddenly looked away and whispered something Erwin didn’t catch through the background noise. He turned back to Levi, opening his mouth to ask him to ignore them, and found him crushing a half-consumed cigarette into his empty glass. He stood up at once, slamming his hands against the table that wavered from the powerful blow.

“Levi,” he called, reaching his hand towards him.

    Levi all but ignored him behind the manifest veil of anger rippling his face and took two strides to the other table, knocking down his chair in a loud rattle right as a lull broke through the music.

“What the fuck did you just say, shitheads?” he barked, hands simmering with rage.

“What’s the matter, runt? You didn’t find that joke about cripples funny?” replied the bulkiest of the trio, easily twice as big as Levi.

“Is there a freak show in town somewhere? The midget and his armless friend?” another one chimed in through a grin of rotten teeth.

    Levi huffed, face red and knuckles white.

“Oh, you wanna go?” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You wanna fucking go?”

    The three men broke into laughter, and Erwin took the opportunity to stand up and reach out to Levi.

“Levi, please, don’t bother.”

    Levi yanked him away, and instead grabbed the t-shirt’s front of the man before him, whose amusement dropped suddenly.

“I thought your crippled mate to be the stupid one, but looks like I was wrong,” he warned, standing up, a tower looming over Levi, and wrapping his hand tight around Levi’s wrist.

    It wasn’t another second until Levi dived his head down the man’s solar plexus in a blur, and twisted his arm it backwards. Before anyone could react, Levi threw himself at him, shoving him back against the table that caved in under the man’s weight.

    Erwin’s breath caught in his throat, and he remained frozen in place, eyes wide, as the two other men jumped at Levi with vile purpose.

    The brawl happened too fast for Erwin's intoxicated eyes to follow. In a haze of flying limbs, grunts and breaking glass, he could barely keep track of Levi's dimly lit silhouette. His body remained stunned despite his will to intervene, until a nudge at his side suddenly jolted it awake again.

"Monsieur Erwin, are you alright?" Isabelle urged with worry, clutching at Erwin's arm tightly.

    He failed to make words leave his mouth, and only watched as people began gathering, pushing and pulling the four fighters apart. He found Levi again, retained by the oldest woman from earlier – Athena – and two other men against whom he squirmed. There was blood running down his nose but the fury in his eyes glowed redder. The grip around him tightened as he started kicking his legs, yelling hazy profanities. Two of the men he'd been fighting were curled down the floor, clutching at their face and limbs with heated curses and murderous glares at Levi. The third, bigger one, stood a few meters away, he too struggling against the people trying to keep him from diving straight at Levi's throat.

    Erwin recovered enough sense to walk the few steps to Levi and wrapped his hand around his quivering torso. Athena was talking fast in his ear, behind which Erwin noticed a gush of dark blood pouring down to the hem of Levi's shirt, glass shards nestled deep into the flesh.

"Levi, give it up! What did we agree on? No more fighting outside the pit.”

“Piss off. Those assholes had it coming,” he hissed.

“Hey, listen to me, shithead,” she warned, shaking his arm, “You’re done for the night. Now, I want you to take a deep breath and go back home, okay?"

    Levi’s jaws clenched yet Erwin felt the tension in his muscles loosen.

“Hey kiddo,” one of the men holding Levi’s opponent sneered, “listen to your mama and go back to your bedroom so she can use those lips on my dick instead.”

“Levi, no!” Athena urged suddenly, tightening her grip around his arm.

    But Levi was no longer listening and rushed forwards, tearing himself away with blunt force. A panicked horde of hands followed and failed to get hold of him again.

    He jumped with a litany of incoherent insults, aiming for the neck of whoever had just piqued at him, and the two of them tumbled from the impact. Levi pinned him down with all his weight, quickly reaching for the back pocket of his trousers, and Erwin immediately recognised the shiny glimmer of the switchblade his throat had made acquaintance with a few weeks back. Erwin gasped – the sound got lost in the sudden alarmed commotion – stunned, dreading Levi’s next move.

“What the fuck do you plan to do with that, freak?” the man beneath Levi wheezed through gritted teeth. “Are you that eager to go back to jail? Does your faggot ass miss it so much already?”

    Erwin snapped back to his senses when Athena hurled at his shoulder to seize the back of Levi’s shirt. He instinctively imitated her, and together they managed to haul him up.

“Levi, for the love of god, snap out of it!” she cried out desperately, reaching out to Levi’s armed wrist. “You know what’s gonna happen if someone actually calls the cops.”

    Erwin's fingers suddenly sank deep into Levi's flesh, like soft butter. He wobbled back and fell on his knees, and it took a collective effort to prevent him from slumping down further. Athena took the short instant of vulnerability to snatch the switchblade from Levi’s hand, folded it back and hid it inside her bra.

“I beg you Levi, give it up and go. Now.” She then looked up to Erwin, plea in her eyes. “Big guy, can you escort him out? I’ll find Isabelle and all of you just run away from here.”

    Erwin nodded, and with the help of three other people  – Levi weighed a lot more than he looked – lifted him back to his feet. He lead a stupefied Levi out, catching their belongings on the way, and found both Athena and Isabelle waiting at the exit.

    The icy winds seemed to snap Levi back. He spat out a dark glob and wiped the blood streaming down from his nose on his bare forearm with a disgusted wince.

“Give it back,” he held his hand palm up in front of Athena.

“No. Are you out of your goddamn mind? What the hell were you trying to achieve back there?”

    Levi ignored her questions and pulled a cigarette out of his jeans.

“Give it back,” he insisted.

“You’re not seeing it again until you sober up,” she grabbed the cigarette from Levi’s lips and lodged it between her owns. “Since when do you care about Kenny’s stuff anyway?”

     Levi scowled, his whole face scrunched up, and lit up another cigarette in a dreadful silence. He opened his mouth again after the first drag, but he was suddenly interrupted by the distant sirens that erupted only a few streets away. There was no telling if the police cars were actually heading their way, but the sounds still roused a sense of urgency amongst the assembly. Athena muttered under her breath, quickly gesturing to the girls behind her to leave at once and turned back to Levi.

“Go home, now. And don’t make me remind you that Isa’s your responsability, so don’t fuck this up and get her back safely,” she prompted. “And we’re gonna have to talk about your attitude next time,” she added before turning away and disappearing at the corner of the street. 

     Erwin expected Levi to hurry as well, but when he looked at him, he was rooted in place, head down, a plume of white smoke skimming from his lips. Despite the deep frown carving sharp lines over his features and the mingle of shadows and smeared blood around his mouth, he had the look a small child who’d just been scolded. 

“Come on, big brother, let’s go home,” Isabelle whispered, draping his shoulders with a hoodie she pulled out of his bag.

“Shit,” he hissed, snapping his head back up and taking his first step forward. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah…” she walked next to him in long, hurried strides. “Did you break anything?”

“I’m fine.”

     Erwin followed, and his eyes fell behind Levi’s ear where beads of blood were still flowing down, glinting under the streetlights. He remembered seeing glass shards there too.

“Your neck, it’s…” he began, surprised by the lack of timbre in his voice.

“I’m fine,” Levi repeated dismissively as he grabbed Isabelle by the sleeve of her coat. “Slow down, you’ll look suspicious.”

     The wails of the police cars had faded away, but she obliged nonetheless, not without a grunt.

 “Yeah, because having blood all over your face is not suspicious in the slightest.”

     Levi clicked his tongue and worked on wiping his face with a handkerchief and the remainder of the water bottle he fished out of his bag, and then threw the hood of his jumper over his head. The three of them kept walking through a maze of eerily empty streets. Erwin kept more distance between them than he intended to; he was having trouble focusing on anything, despite the whip of sobriety that had long replaced the alcohol in his bloodstream.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” Isabelle cut through the silence as they rounded the corner of a boulevard, the entrance of the underground station in their line of sight.

“No.”

     He turned his head back slightly, meeting Erwin’s gaze for a fleeting moment, eyes uncharacteristically bashful. Erwin pressed his lips in a tight line. He knew that Levi had been drunk, that his temper was quick to snap, and that, apparently, the mix of the two made him ridiculously prone to violence, but ultimately, it was the glares and jokes targeted at himself – his stump – that had triggered him into action, and Erwin couldn’t help but feel responsible for such a disastrous outcome.

“Levi, I… You shouldn’t–”

“Don’t.” Levi sounded tired.

     Erwin only nodded. He couldn't find a way to voice his apologies, the right words to tell Levi that he should have let it slide, that such pity, derision, and aversion followed him everywhere he went. Or that he had grown numb to it and that Levi should too. And, more so, he couldn't find a way to voice the words he would never dare to speak aloud: that enduring it was but a trial he willingly accepted, for it was the only honour he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, @[ackermess](https://ackermess.tumblr.com/) made a [Coda moodboard](https://www.pinterest.fr/bucbanan/fic-coda/), and not only is it super sweet and thoughtful of them, but it's very much so on point! I'd advise you to go check it out!
> 
> Much love to y'all and see you next chapter~
> 
>  
> 
> Additional tags/warnings:  
> \- violence  
> \- sexism/homophobia


	8. CODA - chapter viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (additional tags/warnings in the end notes)

  


    Erwin barely slept. The events of the previous night, too fresh in his mind, kept jostling him awake whenever he felt himself drift away. He pulled through the next day with unhealthy amounts of coffee and a dash of patience from his student. It had done well at keeping him focused, but not well enough to ease the stone of guilt at the pit of his stomach. Stepping outside of his student’s house, he headed straight for the underground station, deliberately getting off two stations too early with the hope that a walk would clear his head. When he found himself before Levi’s doorsteps however, he was not feeling any less fidgety.

    The first attempt at ringing the intercom concluded with Levi hanging up as soon as Erwin introduced himself, keeping the door locked. He tried again, and this time Levi let him in with nothing more than a long sigh crackling through the receiver. When Erwin reached the seventh floor, the front door was half-open, and, after ridding himself of his outwear and shoes, he found Levi filling an infuser with tea leaves next to the lit stove. Erwin kept some distance, gauging the severity of the man’s temper. 

    Levi’s back was all he saw of him, draped in an oversized jumper hastily tucked at the front of his trousers, speckles of bleach stains scattered all over the fabric. His movements as he took the kettle away from the heat to pour its content inside an enamel teapot were slow and precise, velvety sounds that contrasted with Levi’s usual inclination for loudness. The wound at his nape laid exposed in a streak of silver light, swollen and mangled in a gruesome shade of magenta.

    Erwin tempted a shy greeting which Levi ignored plainly, and instead got an answer from Escargot who trotted to him, his tail proud and flowy. He crouched, petting the purring cat behind the ears, waiting for Levi to acknowledge him at last.

    When he did, it was with dark eyes and deep furrowed brows as he turned around with a tray in his hands, his weary gaze meeting Erwin’s.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his voice grated but flat, walking to the sofa.

    Erwin’s eyes followed him, and he slowly rose to his feet. The answer was bright in his mind, but the words to voice it struggled to fall into place, stranded with pangs of guilt, of bashfulness, of irritation, and misplaced resentment towards Levi. Although he knew that none of this was Levi’s fault, Erwin couldn’t bear how infantilised it made him feel when people got offended in his stead, the weight it added to his burden, and how much he beat himself over it. There was no way of making it sound virtuous. 

“I wanted to make sure you were doing okay,” Erwin said after a while, walking towards the sofa as Levi slumped down to it.

“It was far from being my first bar fight, you know. I’ve managed before you, so you’re just wasting your time here.”

    Erwin exhaled shortly, his head wobbling slightly in contemplation. He’d not come prepared for this talk, he realised, despite the thousand things he wished to say.

“What? Have you been losing sleep over it?” Levi asked, less spite coating his voice. 

    He patted the space next to him on the sofa, and Erwin sat down, eyes on the bruised knuckles of Levi’s small hands.

“No,” he lied. “It’s just… I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause.

“Okay.”

    Levi waited, fingers drumming over his crossed legs, for Erwin to make sense of his own thoughts, and then leaned down to pour two cups of steaming tea when the silence lingered for too long. He dropped two cubes of brown sugar in Erwin’s, and it made him wonder just how observant Levi had been, to know exactly when a little bit of sweetness was needed to help wash the bitterness off his tongue.

    Erwin thanked him quietly and brought the cup close to his face, basking in the warm, earthy scent. They drank quietly, the silence growing less tense with each sip. Erwin’s eyes laid unfocused before him, reading the spines of the few books on the precarious shelf against the wall until the words stopped making sense. He could feel Levi’s gaze searching for his every now and then, and only yielded once he laid his empty cup aside. 

    He turned his head to the side and took in the different hues of battered skin scattered over Levi’s face before settling on his shadow-lined eyes. Levi held his gaze with a faltering pride revealing a softer layer beneath the greys; it threw Erwin back to Christmas night, and it was only now that he recognised the shy expression as concern.

“Are you alright?” Erwin blurted out as soon as Levi opened his mouth, most likely with the very same question.

    Levi clicked his tongue, eyes squinted. He only shrugged.

“Sure.”

“How’s your neck?”

“It’s fine.”

    Erwin straightened his posture to try and get a better look, but Levi was quick to shy away from his gaze.

“Did Isabelle take care of it? It looked pretty ugly last night.”

“It’s animals she treats, not people. I can take care of myself.”

    Erwin crossed his legs, sinking further down the thin cushion. Knowing Isabelle, she would have insisted on helping Levi, and it was easy to imagine how stubbornly Levi brushed her away. It was a sentiment Erwin understood – keeping others out of the consequences of his own actions – but there was just as much compassion that came in being at the opposite end.

“Let me have a look.”

“It’s fine,” Levi repeated, annoyance creeping back to flatten his voice.

“Levi,” he called firmly, “there were glass shards in there. While I don’t doubt your capacities for looking after yourself, I’m also pretty sure you don’t have eyes behind your head. I only want to make sure you got it all out.”

    Levi inhaled deeply, eyes rolling. He held his breath for a moment, sending threats with his eyes, which only recoiled against Erwin’s.

“You’re gonna insist no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid I will.”

“Whatever,” he sighed, tossing his teacup down as he stood. “You’re getting that hand of yours clean first.”

“Of course.”

    Levi was already fumbling through the cabinets when Erwin joined him in the bathroom. He headed to the sink, took the bar of soap in his hand and turned the faucet on. The soap was slippery in his palm, and he doubled his efforts to coat his hand in foam without dropping it. He placed it back down to lather his fingers the best he could with his thumb. Levi was watching attentively; there was no misplaced curiosity in his scrutiny, but his gaze felt heavy nonetheless. Erwin focused on rubbing his nails against his palm instead, and, after seeking approval in Levi’s eyes, rinsed the soap away. 

    Levi tossed a towel at Erwin before pushing him back to take place in front of the sink – there was barely enough space in the room for the two of them to navigate. He removed his jumper and folded it neatly on the counter.

“May I?” Erwin asked softly, stepping right behind Levi, hand hovering above the mangled skin of his nape.

    He caught the roll of Levi’s eyes through the mirror.

“Just do it and let’s get this over with,” he grunted.

    Erwin nodded and lowered his thumb at the edge of Levi’s undershirt before pulling down slightly to stretch the damaged tissue. Levi’s head ducked at the touch, flinching with a shiver that made the fuzz at the base of his skull rise against the pads of Erwin’s fingers. He crossed his arms, his lips smacking together loudly, making no effort to straighten his posture.

    Erwin leaned closer to get a better look of the fresh wounds that were still glimmering red; a harsh contrast against the paleness of Levi’s tone. His skin was even less lively under the weak yellow lightbulb reflecting the overwhelmingly dusty rose surroundings – from the tiled floor and walls, the cracked paint of the door, the sink and the shower cabin. It did not make things easier on his eyes, but Erwin had experience in tending to wounds in much more precarious contexts, and it wasn’t long until he caught the glowing edges of a nub of glass lodged in red.

“I’m going to need tweezers,” Erwin released the pressure of his fingers. “And a hand.”

    Levi nodded and held a pair of pristine tweezers over his shoulder. Erwin plucked the tool from Levi’s fingers, locked its handle between his lips and wrapped his hand around Levi’s. He placed it over the knob of his spine and spread the fingers across the skin. The intense stiffness in Levi’s fingers was familiar – the same as when Erwin first helped Levi setting them right around the neck of his cello. He could feel the slight tremor of tension coursing through Levi’s knuckles as sharp lines drew onto his neck from his clenched jaws. Erwin reckoned that asking him to relax would have the opposite effect, and instead, he pushed harder down Levi’s hand to pull the skin around the cuts. He picked up the tweezers and with a warning hum, slowly lowered them towards the glass shard.

    Levi tensed even more at the contact, sucking in a hiss when Erwin missed the target, struggling to be as precise as needed with his left hand. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and tried again, this time successfully managing to secure the shard between the two ends of the tweezers. He pulled out carefully, and a drop of warm blood beaded down.

    Levi was quick to act, snatching the tweezers from Erwin and trading it with an alcohol soaked cotton pad. Erwin caught the drop before it reached the hem of Levi’s shirt, pad running upwards, and Levi hissed again when he patted softly over the tender flesh.

“How did you manage to hurt yourself like that?”

“It’s not like I kept a record of what was going on,” Levi sneered, meeting Erwin’s stern gaze in the mirror. “Are you done now?”

“I’m not sure, let me double check.”

“Alright.”

    Erwin removed the reddened cotton and focused on the rest of the cuts, eyes squinted and vigilant. He brought his hand back at Levi’s skin, pulling slightly at it, and this time, instead of shrinking on himself, Levi lowered his head, elongating his neck in the light. 

    This new compliance from him was all it took for Erwin’s remorse to spill.

“You… You shouldn’t have done that, Levi,” he let out, his voice weaker than intended.

    Levi sighed, keeping his head down but sending a dark glare through his lashes at the mirror for Erwin to catch.

“You just can’t take the hint and keep your mouth shut, can you?”

“I can’t pretend this happened for no reason,” Erwin retorqued with a press of his fingers down Levi’s skin.

“Why not? It’s just drunk people fighting in a bar, it’s not that deep.”

“Levi.”

    He huffed through his nose and raised his head to hold Erwin’s gaze as a warning.

“I appreciate the intention behind your action, but… You really should have let it slide,” Erwin went on nonetheless. “As you said, it’s not that deep.”

    Levi tutted, shaking his head. Erwin’s hand mindlessly slid down the crook of Levi’s neck, shrouding his shoulder whole. It was disconcerting, for such a strong frame to be held together in a body so small. 

“Those assholes had it coming.”

    Erwin’s fingers squeezed around the soft flesh, an almost imperceptible jolt that made Levi shrink slightly. 

“What for? Staring?”

“They were not just staring, and you know it.”

“Staring. Talking. Laughing. Levi, it’s just… It’s a thing people do.”

“Do you really want pity so bad?” Levi spat.

“I don’t. That’s just how it is. It’s something unusual that catches the eye,” Erwin’s gaze twitched towards the reflection of his own empty sleeve for a moment. “You stared too, you know, when we met. It’s the first thing you looked at.”

    Levi’s breath hitched. He snapped his head up but Erwin averted his gaze, instead turning his eyes to the ball of dark fur curled up in the folds of the shower curtain, watching the two men with one single, piercing yellow eye.

    Levi stammered, and the apologetic fluster in his incoherent syllables hit Erwin hard in the guts.

“I don’t mind, Levi. I’m only telling you that it’s a normal reaction. It’s fine,” Erwin’s voice strained despite the reassuring tone he meant to convey.

“Okay then what? Maybe I stared, but that’s all I did. It’s not like I went ahead and called you names.”

    Erwin watched Darjeeling whipping her tail up and down, her ears sinking lower and lower under the tension filling the air. He then turned his head back to Levi, and his hand slipped down to rest uselessly at his own side.

“You did, actually. And still do, all the time.”

    Erwin regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, and he did not manage to tear his eyes away from Levi fast enough to avoid the sheer terror on Levi’s features.

“I… Shit– Erwin,” Levi spun around to face him. “You know it’s not– that I’m being an asshole with you just for the sake of it.”

“I know,” was all Erwin managed to murmur through the lump of guilt lodged in his throat.

    He had not meant to accuse Levi of anything; his words just now were but the ghost of all the frustration and self-loathing he’d accumulated throughout the years. Of all people, Levi was the last one who should have been the target of Erwin’s bitterness. But there was no easy way to confess that Levi’s raw candour had drawn Erwin in in the first place. He’d always had a way to brush off Erwin’s handicap so casually, like it didn’t matter, like it was but another thing to poke at. Levi issued each and every of his quirks the same amount of raillery: how unapologetically _British_ he was, all courtesy and _offending_ choice of attire; the occasional clumsiness of his French despite his eloquence; his military past and with it, the old reflexes of uptightness in his bulky frame, and the weight of burden over his shoulders in the overall neglect of his appearance despite his natural sophistication, to name just a few. 

    Granted, Levi did have a way with words that was seldom considerate, but he was never vile in intent. It had not taken long to Erwin to translate Levi’s quips as unadmitted affection.

“I didn’t mean to imply that–”

“Does it bother you?” Levi cut him, a weak strain still lingering at the back of his voice.

“It doesn’t,” Erwin assured, locking his gaze onto the greys of Levi’s.

    Levi’s brows twitched.

“Then why did you even bring it up?”

“It’s just… My point is, people are going to watch, people are going to talk and mock, people are going to laugh and spit, and there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent that. It’s best to ignore it and move on.”

    Erwin knew he wasn’t being quite truthful with himself – and if the way people reacted offended him at best, most of the time, he wallowed in it; there was no denying that an afflicted part of him yearned for the validation of his ugliness and mistakes that showed themselves so obviously on his body. 

“Good thing you insisted it was not that deep,” Levi mumbled as if he heard Erwin’s thoughts. “Are we done now?”

    Erwin breathed deeply with a shy nod.

“Let me dress your wound.”

    Levi took a second before he turned to face the mirror again. He poured copious amounts of alcohol on a clean cotton pad for Erwin to use, who set to his task carefully. His eyes drifted away from time to time, to the field of trimmed fuzz running up Levi’s nape, the glimmers of the two golden rings at his ear, the hills of his spine between which streamed a thick white scar that went to hide under the collar of his shirt. Erwin had not meant to touch it, but he did, nothing more than the fleeting graze of the tip of his pinky finger across the sheeny scarred tissue. Levi showed no sign of reaction, kept his head down and pliant – had he even felt it? – and Erwin snapped his hand away, straightening his posture as he cleared his throat, and discarded the soiled cotton pad on the sink counter.

    With some help from Levi as his second hand, Erwin taped a gauze over the wounds. As soon as he was done, Levi made a quick work of throwing everything in the bin and cleaning the tools. Erwin watched him give the sink a rough scrub, unsure what to do or say next, and blindly followed Levi out and to the kitchen. 

“Oi, Godzilla, the fuck are you doing?” Levi pestered as soon as he stepped in, waving his hands widely at Escargot, sprawled out and munching on petals from a flower bouquet laying flat on the counter.

    The cat jumped at the snap of Levi’s voice, paws skidding on the sleek surface as he leaped down. Levi barely caught the bouquet before it rolled down too, and ruffled his hand through it, plucking the few damaged stems with a low grumble. The sight felt alien, a bouquet pristine white and green, radiating purity and sensitivity – lilies and wildflowers branches on a bed of peonies – in the foreground of Levi’s leaden frame.

“Those are very pretty. You should put them in a vase so they won’t wither too quickly.”

    Levi smirked.

“Well, aren’t you the big flower expert, Prince Charming?” Levi propped the bouquet over one shoulder and took a step towards the front door. “There won’t be any need for that.”

“Oh.” Now it was definitely uncanny. “Are you going somewhere with those?” Erwin followed him, half-amused, half-baffled.

“My mother’s grave,” he delivered flatly, a statement devoid of emotions.

“Oh… I didn’t know. I’m–”

    Levi grabbed his coat from the hanger and spun around just in time to cut the words from Erwin’s mouth.

“If you’re going to say you’re sorry or some shit like that, just don’t bother.”

    Erwin’s mouth hung open for a moment, only to breathe out with a nod. Levi crouched to put his shoes on, and Erwin imitated him – it was unsettling, how much he struggled still to handle Levi the right way.

“Are you coming too?”

“Oh no, no, of course not. I was just…” Erwin gestured his hand at the door, “leaving as well.”

“You sure?” Levi raised his head and behind the dark locks, his eyes wore softness and… _something_ else.

“Yes, I–” Disappointment, it was disappointment that glinted behind the greys. “Do _you_ want me to come?”

    Levi shrugged as he rolled a scarf around his neck.

“She never liked being alone,” he started, staring at the wall, “and I’m not sure that her silent antisocial bastard of a son is giving her much of a presence.”

    The raw honesty of Levi’s words tugged like a heartache at Erwin’s chest.

“Levi, it’s up to you. I don’t want to intrude.”

    Levi picked up the bouquet again and opened the door wide, gesturing Erwin to follow, and without another word, they both made their way out. The night was growing already, lilac on the clouded sky and cold in the peak of winter. 

“Shit,” Levi muttered about ten minutes into their journey, half of his face buried in his scarf. “I should have gone on Christmas day, like I was supposed to. Wasn’t so cold then. Bet she’s glad she never lived long enough to see her son grow to be such a wuss.”

    Levi had insisted on walking despite his chattering teeth – a Way of the Cross with which Erwin had tagged along in repentance. It had been years since he visited the cold stone that had become his father’s last home, and could only admire Levi for going through this tribulation with such self-punishing determination. 

“I’m sure she doesn’t mind,” Erwin assured, empty words meant to be soothing, “you being a few weeks late, I mean.”

    Levi looked up to him through hooded eyelids. 

“What do you know?” Then, his eyes fell straight ahead. “What do _I_ know? It’s not like I actually _knew_ her.”

“Levi…” Erwin tried, his hand raised towards Levi’s shoulder but not touching – wavering on that line of boundaries which edges had always been blurry.

“Alright. Fine.” Levi picked up the pace, and Erwin’s hand slipped back into the warm pocket of his coat. “Want to know all the things you’ve been too bloody polite to ask? Talking will keep me warm.”

“Levi, please, you don’t have to tell–”

“I was six when she died. Some kind of shitty disease she got from one of those pigs, probably.”

    Erwin tilted his head, trying to make sense of Levi’s cryptic statement; it was how it always went whenever Levi told of himself – making no visible effort to be understood and leaving too much out for interpretation. In this case, the window of openings extended too broadly for Erwin to fill up the blanks efficiently.

“She was a whore,” he explained after a while. “Her name’s Kuchel but everyone knew her as Olympia. It’s the same thing with Athena, and…” his voice strained and he brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “Whatever. That’s how she ended up with me. Got knocked up by a scumbag who couldn’t keep his filthy dwarf spunk for himself. I wasn’t really a gift, you know.”

    Erwin knew better than to speak out of pity, and instead waited for Levi to go on. But he remained silent, feigning to search for the next street to take, suckling on his chapped lips, like he too, was waiting for Erwin to speak up.

“What happened afterwards?” Erwin asked instead of pursuing the subject of Levi’s mother, which he reckoned hurt still, no matter how much Levi tried to hide it behind a fort of indifference. “Did you grow up in the system then?”

“Finally asking the questions?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I went to live with my uncle,” he resumed with a shrug. “Kenny. He was… everything but a father, to say the least. He didn’t give a shit about education as a whole, the only thing he bothered to teach me was how to fight, handle a knife or steal stuff – be useful to him. Very pragmatic dude, as you can imagine,” Levi added with a sneer. “He got me in the business as soon as I knew how to write and count, since he could barely do it himself. When he couldn’t be bothered, he sent me over to that bar you came to last night, so Athena could look after me. Which was more often than not. But he put a roof over my head and food on the table most days. In the end that’s all I really needed.”

“So, Athena is like…” Erwin left his sentence hanging, unwilling to say anything that may offend Levi.

“Like a mother, yes. More or less.”

“I see.”

    Levi pulled a cigarette out of his coat, fumbling with the flowers and the lighter for a bit.

“That was until Kenny got arrested,” his voice dropped from the thick smoke swirling out of his mouth. “He was running a smuggling ring or something like that. Never really knew what he was up to exactly but, yeah.”

“Is that the business you were referring to?”

    Levi tapped the ashes of his cigarette and snorted.

“Yes. Was too young to understand what kind of errands he made me run – kids ask a lot of questions, but never the relevant ones. I was useless to the cops when they snooped around. But Kenny took twenty something years nonetheless, so after that it was just… a succession of shitty foster homes until I was old enough to be thrown back where I came from.”

    Erwin swallowed thickly. After yearning for Levi to open up for months, he was now rendered speechless by the meaning behind each word Levi tossed around like they were insignificant. He couldn’t fathom the levels of hardships Levi may have gone through, the distorted picture of reality etched within his core and how much all of it explained Levi’s hardened gaze and crude demeanor. One thing Erwin knew for certain was that tragedy loomed over both their heads, cast shadows that merged into one. Their starting point may have been on opposite ends, the destination was still the same: an anvil of unresolved issues they strived to hide from the unknowing eyes. 

    When Erwin looked around, he instantly recognised the hearty lights and colours of Pigalle, despite the mundane crowd that filled the place during the day. It wouldn’t be long before it would be pervaded with the vivid babel of the patrons eager to consume this queer type of entertainement. 

“Are we heading to Montmartre cemetery?”

“I know. Not really where you’d expect a whore to end up, right?” Levi did not allow Erwin the time to protest and went on. “Kenny’s an absolute cheapskate but he actually paid big money for mum’s plot to be here. Still, out of all the cemeteries he could have picked, he had to go with the one right next to the place that ended up killing her. That’s Kenny for you.”

    As much as it pained Erwin to validate Levi’s words, Montmartre cemetery was one of Paris’ most notorious one, full of monumental gravestones gilded with names of all sorts of artists who had shaped the cultural world. Erwin wandered there sometimes, on days he sought quietness and eerie beauty. Now he wondered why all of this mattered.

“Is that pity I sense from you?” Levi taunted, squinted eyes set on Erwin’s.

    Erwin blinked twice, his eyebrows knotted in apprehension.

“No Levi, it’s not pity. It’s just a lot to take in. I did not realise you went through so much,” he explained, careful not to let his concern coat his tone. 

“So,” Levi made the filter of his cigarette roll between his fingers, “no pity then?” He tutted and flicked the stub down the gutter. “And I thought telling you all of this would earn me a free dinner or something. If I knew you’d be so heartless, I would’ve kept my mouth shut. You really are rude, I stand by my first impression.”

    Erwin whispered a chuckle through his nose.

“Where do you want to go for dinner?”

“There’s a decent pizzeria a few streets away,” Levi suggested through a grin his scarf failed at concealing.

“What about Isabelle? Is she busy tonight?”

    Levi’s sneer spread into a smile – an actual stretch of his lips, unveiling no more than a narrow strip of teeth.

“Maybe you’re not so inconsiderate after all, Blondie,” he stopped a dozen meters away from the cemetery gates, changing their course for the telephone box at the street corner. “Let me call her first.”

 

\- - -

   

    It wasn’t until the following Friday that Erwin saw Levi again, finding him curled up in his big coat next to his front door. It had been a while since he had found Levi waiting for him; he was sure Levi had his schedule memorised by now. Perhaps he should consider giving him a set of spare keys, for times like these where Levi decided to be stubborn as a mule. 

    They made their way up the stairs quickly, eager to find shelter from the lingering cold.

“How’s your neck healing?” Erwin asked, stretching his fingers over the steam of the water he put on the stove as soon as they made it in, while Levi scooped tea leaves in a strainer.

“It’s fine.”

“May I?”

    Levi dropped the infuser in the teapot and rolled his eyes. He turned his back to Erwin nonetheless, tugging slightly at the collar of jumper. Most of the cuts had already healed, woven together with frail threads of pink, glossy skin. The deeper ones still had some bits of dark scab attached to them; those were definitely going to leave scars.

“Do you mind watching over the water for a moment? I’ll be right back.”

    He headed to the bathroom after Levi nodded, and retrieved a tinted glass jar from the mirror shelf. He met Levi on his way back, tray in his hands.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the jar Erwin laid down the coffee table as they sat around it.

“It’s a salve my friend Hange made. It helps with smoothing and whitening scars. I thought you could use some.”

“Hange? Isn’t that your mad scientist friend?” Erwin nodded. “There’s no way this shit is going anywhere near me.”

    Erwin shook his head with a quiet laugh.

“Don’t worry, it’s safe. She’s been supplying me for years.”

    Levi leaned forwards, nose scrunched up and sent suspicious glares at the small pot, bare aside from a label smudged with oily blotches.

“Trust me, it works,” Erwin assured, wrapping his hand around the tip of his stump.

    Levi’s hand hovered over the jar for a moment, before snatching it swiftly as he sat back into the sofa. He unscrewed the lid and brought it under his nose to give it a shy sniff.

“Okay,” he conceded with a shrug.

    He then rose to his feet, shedded his jumper, and strode over the table to drop down on the rug at Erwin’s feet. He held the jar above his shoulder and waited.

“Do you want me to…?” Erwin guessed, puzzled by Levi’s silent request.

“You’re the one insisting that I don’t have eyes behind my head, so whatever, just get on with it before the tea gets too infused.”

    Erwin considered arguing that rubbing in some balm did not require nearly as much precision as plucking glass shards; he knew how much Levi abhorred of physical contact, avoided it like the plague and flinched as if he combusted everytime it was required of him. It was downright odd that he’d ask Erwin, and he wondered if Levi had failed to think his request through. But on the other hand, he trusted Levi to be acutely aware of his own aversion.

“Erwin, the tea.”

“Sorry.”

    Erwin dipped two fingers into the buttery substance and brought them over Levi’s nape, making a slight pause before laying them down. He worked the balm in slowly as it broke down from the warmth of the friction. His fingers glided easily over the uneven surface of Levi’s skin, careful not to press down too heavily over the few patches that were still healing. A sharp shiver took over Levi as fingers skimmed behind his ear. Erwin halted, hand twitching away, but Levi only let his head fall down between his arms crossed over his knees, offering the fullness of his vulnerable point. Erwin took it gently, spreading the slick salve over the whole area, its strong aroma of shea and aloe mingling with the citrus soap of Levi’s hair. The pressure of his hand progressively grew heavier, rubbing over every hill and valley, stiff and full of knots. Levi sank lower with a deep sigh, which Erwin took as an encouragement to begin stroking harder. His skin flushed pink with heat, the flesh underneath melting slowly with each deft press of Erwin’s palm.

    It was mesmerising, to feel Levi’s defenses bend under his fingers without as much as a protest. Levi was but the steadiness of his breathing and the soft heat pouring out of him – willing and pliant. It was as mesmerising as it was unfamiliar, and it stirred some repressed omens Erwin only ever confronted in the benign confines of dreams. 

    He withdrew his hand and slowly sank at the back of his armchair, unable to tear his gaze away from Levi as he stretched his shoulders and neck left and right. He cleared his throat.

“You keep it,” he suggested, “I don’t have much use for it anymore.”

“Okay,” Levi muttered, putting the lid back on the jar, “I better not catch anything weird, or you and your friend will hear about it.”

“Naturally.”

    Levi stood back up and filled the two cups with tea up to the brim. He took sips at it quietly from the sofa, in between drags from his cigarette, and if the tea was over infused – it was – he made no comment about it. 

    Silence settled easily as they both focused on their respective steaming cups. Erwin’s eyes skidded over the room lazily – the smoke swirling above their heads, the shy ray of sun piercing through a bed of white clouds, the thin layer of dust over the slick lid of the piano it unveiled, the circles Levi drew with his ankle laid over his knee, that one split in the rich wood of the coffee table, the smooth paleness of Levi’s face that he’d rarely seen so clear of red lines or purple nebulas.

“Are you going back there tonight?” he broke through the silence, remembering that Levi had come empty-handed.

“It’s better if I don’t show my face there for a few weeks.”

    Erwin nodded, sipping the last of his tea.

“Are you going to be alright?”

    A mutual understanding passed between their gazes. It was pretty clear now that Levi used violence as an outlet from the anger that carved wrinkles between his eyes, and Erwin feared it wouldn’t be long until all that pent-up frustration unleashed in chaotic ways. 

    Levi lowered his cup to his knee.

“You’ve got alcohol, don’t you?” Levi said behind a smirk that flattened quickly. “I’ve been running an extra ten kilometers a day, I’ll be fine.”

    Erwin considered asking just how much that amounted to once added up, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. He instead suggested Levi to sit at the cello, hoping it could offer enough to give vent to his anger – despite fearing for his own eardrums. Levi complied without chasing Erwin away from the room – and without inviting him to join at the piano either – and, surprisingly, the melody ringing out from the strings sailed smoothly in a studious and mellow course of notes. Erwin moved from the chair to the sofa quietly, stretching his legs all the way to the other end of it and picked up a notebook and a pen. He flipped through the pages blackened with endless lines of thousands of music notes messily thrown across the yellow paper until he found a blank one. He sucked at the end of his pen, eyelids low, focusing all his senses to his ears instead.

    There were pages worth of music smudged under his left hand when Levi finally let the bow down. Erwin quickly scribbled the date in a corner and put the notebook away before Levi would start asking questions. Thankfully, Levi was too busy lighting a cigarette, mindlessly rearranging the papers scattered on the lid of Erwin’s piano. He slowed the pace, picking up an envelope made of silky cotton paper, bearing Erwin’s name and address in blue ink, immaculate and sealed tight still: Pixis’ answer to Erwin’s timid letter, which he had yet to find the courage to read. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat audibly to tear Levi from his scrutiny. He tossed it atop the pile of papers he’d just made with a shrug and turned to Erwin, one eyebrow raised. 

“So, where’s the wine?”

    Erwin couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that followed Levi’s abiding bluntness.

“You know where it is.”

    Levi led the way to the kitchen, and helped himself with an open bottle of sweet white wine from the fridge. Erwin put two glasses down and went to retrieve a bottle of red wine instead, despite Levi’s judging eyes. He sat down in a chair, locking the bottle between his thighs and picked up a fine knife to cut through the cap. He then traded it for a corkscrew, working with his teeth to unfold its arms, and stabbed the tip through the cork. Levi was watching with loud sips from his own glass, his gaze mildly intrusive but not so much upsetting. 

    Erwin was halfway through pulling the cork out, wiggling it slowly and pressing hard on his thighs to keep the bottle in place when Levi put his own glass down and reached one arm out.

“Let me do it.”

“It’s fine,” Erwin retorted, his tone coming out sharper than intended. “I’ve got more practice in that department than I’d like to admit,” he then added more gently.

    The cork slid off the next moment with a loud pop, as if timed to illustrate his words. 

“Yeah, I believe that,” Levi sneered and went to pour himself a second glass already.

    He was swirling the content of his glass in hypnotic motions, leaned against the counter, following Erwin’s hand with vacant eyes. His eyebrows slid lower and lower over his pupils, folding the skin between them, and Erwin’s skin was beginning to itch.

“How hard is it?” Levi asked, his voice low. “Doing shit with only one hand,” he added after Erwin’s questioning hum.

    Erwin sat back slowly, keeping his head facing away from Levi, nose buried in the earthy garnet of his filled glass. Levi’s question was taking intricate paths to his brain; it was one thing to acknowledge Erwin’s disability – it was a hard one to miss – but nobody dared to ask about the pragmatic mechanism of it. Even for Levi, such boldness was unexpected.

    Erwin wet his lips in the velvet of the wine and looked over at Levi.

“It demands a lot of patience and practice, and sometimes, a wild imagination.” He paused, nibbling the wine off his lips under Levi’s attentive gaze. “Things can get pretty infuriating. There are so many tasks you take for granted until you realise there is no easy way to accomplish them single-handedly. Some, I’m afraid, I’ve had to give up altogether.”

    Cello was the first one that came to his mind, and the downward pull at the corners of Levi’s mouth told him they shared the thought. It was absurd, in a sense; not being able to play music shouldn’t be the first inconvenience to think of – there were countless amounts of mundane yet indispensable other tasks that had lost their inherence more worthy of mentioning. But Erwin’s devotion was unequivocal, Levi understood it, and that in itself was an unpredicted favour Erwin had never felt so strongly with anyone else.

    Levi's eyes were quietly traveling over him – his nails which were back in their poorly trimmed state, the sloppy knot at the end of his empty sleeve – and stopped at his face.

“Or sometimes you can’t be bothered to even try,” he remarked, his voice dropping another few decibels. “Your face is such a scruffy mess.”

    Erwin chuckled lightly at the veracity of Levi’s reprimand; it was true that his physical appearance had dropped low on his list of priorities.

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. It looks like shit. Nobody would ever want to get anywhere near that nettle bush.”

    One of Erwin’s eyebrows shot up. Just how lonely did he appear for Levi, of all people, to bring it up?

“Cleaned shaved or not, it doesn’t change much,” he assured, lighthearted, before taking a sip of wine.

    Deep shadows grew over Levi’s eyes, and in a fraction of a second, he slammed his glass down, took one big stride towards Erwin and caught his chin between his fingers, a grip sturdy enough to hurt.

“See?” he scowled, sweet wine dancing on his breath. “I’m touching it, and it’s really not nice on the fingers.”

    Erwin expected Levi to back away after proving his point, but the pressure of his fingers lingered around his jaw. Levi was pulling his head upwards, his own face close.

“You even missed a patch from like a week ago. God, you’re so sloppy.”

    Erwin had meant to brush it off with a smile, but Levi was not letting go, and the lightness of the jest was taking the opposite direction. He leaned back to escape Levi’s grip, but he held still. His jaw was starting to ache.

“Levi–”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said I’ll do it. Since you can’t be bothered to, I’ll shave that hedgehog off your face.”

    Erwin half-laughed, half-huffed, unable to read Levi’s tone. But one look at Levi convinced him he was dead serious.

“I appreciate the concern, but I can handle myself.”

    When Erwin moved his head again, Levi’s fingers slipped against the sandy surface of his skin, yet not low enough for them to be withdrawn completely. There was still query in his gaze and bidding at his digits. Erwin wasn’t far from beginning to worry about him, for his behaviour had shifted from one polar opposite to the other in a matter of days; first letting Erwin in the well-guarded details of his past, and now this compelling abundance of physical contact.

“You’ve been drinking, so let’s just drop that idea,” Erwin added, only to fill the menacing silence.

    Levi straightened his spine at once, both hands back in the pockets of his jeans.

“Are you scared?”

    It may not have been the right argument to bring up, Erwin reckoned. He’d seen Levi take down three men twice his size with a lot more alcohol running through his veins. Truth be told, Erwin would worry more about Levi getting another sharp blade near his throat than he would be about him doing so intoxicated. Erwin shivered at the thought, leaving behind a trail of raised hairs over the skin of his arm. It was oddly thrilling.

“I don’t know. Should I be?”

“Trusting that left hand of yours to do the job is definitely a lot scarier.”

    Erwin laughed with a shake of his head. Levi just made a compelling point, yet he was not about to fall into this game; he was neither a child or an old man who needed to be nurtured. But before he’d had the chance to protest – he really meant to – Levi was dragging him out of the kitchen, both bottles of wine in hand, and only let go of Erwin once he made him sit on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror. The bottles clanked loudly against the edge of the sink as Levi laid them down, and the next moment, he had found Erwin’s shaving soap, fluffy brush and chrome plated razor.

    The scent of both sweet and dry wine mingled in the small space between them as Levi rubbed the soapy brush across Erwin’s jaw until it was coated in thick foam. The situation verged on ridiculous, but Erwin elected that the more pliant he was, the quicker it would be over. He lifted his chin, obedient, when Levi walked behind him, razor in hand. His other hand seized what had been offered, clasped tightly over his throat – the force he applied around his trachea knocked the air out of Erwin’s lungs, and the fingers lodged at each corner of his jaw dug into the flesh with a sharp ache. Erwin only set his teeth in a wince and let Levi have at it. His eyes closed when Levi cleared the first line of foam with the razor, and he swallowed audibly against the strong grip.

“You seem like you’re used to doing this,” Erwin whispered, his voice a bit strangled.

“Huh?”

“Holding a blade at someone’s throat.”

    Levi clicked his tongue, dipped the razor in the sink filled with warm water, and tightened his hold around Erwin’s neck, arching it back further.

“What are you saying? Do I look like a freaking barber?”

    The blade ran across the underside of his jaw once more.

“I didn’t mention anything about shaving,” Erwin’s breath was becoming unbearably short, and it showed in the strain of his voice.

“Oh.” Levi’s fingers twitched. “Why? Am I holding too tight?”

“Yes. It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

“Then what the fuck are you complaining about?” he snarled, shaving another line.

“I wasn’t complaining, only curious.”

    Levi peered a threatening glance over the mirror and leaned over to rinse the tip of the razor without another word. He repeated his actions in a dead silence until there were only small patches of foam left on Erwin’s face.

“You’re right, I’m used to it,” he admitted at last, his voice vibrating against Erwin’s eardrum as he leaned closer to focus on the more dexterous areas. “But this is the first time I’m doing it without the intention of spilling blood. Yet,” he added in a hollow warning.

“Your consideration doesn’t go unappreciated, Levi,” Erwin jested, which earned him a snort from Levi.

    Erwin tilted his head to the side to give Levi better access, looking down their reflection in the mirror. He wondered just how much Levi was willing to disclose; he’d already spilled so much, but now that he’d given Erwin the permission to ask questions, he was eager to do just so. Of all he had seen and heard the night of that bar fight, there had been one instance in particular that wouldn’t leave Erwin’s thoughts. It might have been out of audacity, given the current setting, but Erwin decided to throw the dice.

“Is that why you went to jail?”

    Levi froze. He withdrew the razor, only a few centimeters away and caught Erwin’s eyes in the mirror, holding his gaze sternly.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “What do you think?”

“Would it be rudely assuming of me if I said it wouldn’t surprise me?”

    The line of conversation remained deliberately blurry, despite the light tone, they both knew it was hardly a laughing matter – if true, there was no telling how far Levi’s blade had gone nor how much it had impacted him. Levi, however, did not seem to worry about the gravity of such implications and howled a coarse snicker. 

“Are you always that reckless, Blondie?” he pressed the blades of the razor back against Erwin’s skin to accentuate his words. “Saying such things when you’re in that position? At this point, you’re just asking for it.”

    Erwin closed his eyes. His heart hitched for a few beats and steadied again. There was no rational explanation for the deep bond of trust he felt towards Levi, but the intimidating act flew right over his head. He cracked a smug smile as his only answer. Levi scoffed.

“Is that why your arm got chopped off? Cause your foolishness knows no limits?”

    Erwin took a deep breath in, smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. It was of such honest simplicity, the way words flowed between them – no pretense at consideration, no teetering around the subject. It reminded him why he enjoyed Levi’s company so much.

“Yes, actually.”   

    Levi rolled his eyes and tossed a washcloth dismissively at Erwin’s face.

“Of course that’s fucking why,” he grumbled.

    Erwin washed his chin, and the man he faced in the mirror almost felt like a stranger – like an old friend he’d forgotten about – immaculate and young, and there was more to it than the simple smoothness of his skin. He could swear even the crows feet at the corner of his eyes had grown lighter.

“Thank you, Levi,” his words were soft, whispered like a confession that flushed Levi’s cheeks with a red tinge and made his gaze go astray.

“Here,” he blurted out, seizing the towel from Erwin’s hand and trading it with the bottle of red wine.

    Levi took a big swig off his own, propped against the sink. He blinked slowly, and his eyes wandered back to Erwin’s, edges velvety and pupils full. Erwin held his gaze, the bottle twirling in his hand, smiled and quietly brought the brim to his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags/warnings:  
> \- very slight gore  
> \- mentions of death


	9. CODA - chapter ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a moment to thank you all for the incredible response to the last chapter, I did not expect so many of you to leave such wonderful comments! It definitely motivated me to write a lot more, and with that, I'm happy to let you know that the two next chapters are almost ready to go, and the third is halfway there. That means you shouldn't have to wait too long for the next updates~
> 
> I'd also like to give my most heartfelt thanks to my betas, [Melody_Of_The_River](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Of_The_River/pseuds/Melody_Of_The_River) and [TheIndifferentDroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid) for their tremendous advice regarding the events of this chapter, that was otherwise set up to be a disaster. I'm pretty happy with how things turned out in the end, and I hope you'll like this chapter too!
> 
> Happy reading~
> 
> (additional tags/warnings in the end notes)

 

 

    Levi picked up after the sixth ring. Long seconds of silence followed until he mumbled a flat, univiting greeting. 

     Right, Levi hated the phone.

“Good evening, Levi, it’s Erwin,” he announced in his most mellow tone.

“Oh. What do you want?”

     Although Levi was no longer sounding so morose, Erwin deemed he’d make this quick. Erwin would come home late the next day after a trip to an airline agency to book plane tickets, a last minute decision he’d made after he finally read and answered Pixis’ letter. He usually wouldn’t call Levi over such trivial things, but when the man left in the early afternoon, he casually uttered a “see you tomorrow”, and albeit if he actually meant to show up remained to be seen, Erwin didn’t want to leave him hanging. The weather forecast wasn’t looking clement, and he realised he had yet to give Levi a set of spare keys; doing so felt a bit too personal and Erwin wasn’t quite sure how to present it. 

     He kept his words scarce, only telling Levi what he needed to know. The exchange took less than a minute. Erwin was about to free Levi from this endeavour, opened his mouth to wish Levi a good evening, when a loud noise rattled on the other end of the line.

 “Are you looking at the sky right now?”

     Erwin frowned, bewildered by Levi unexpected question. He raised his eyes to the window next to him nonetheless; behind the misty glass, diffused city lights lapped at the rounded clouds, white gold on a dark background.

“I am now,” he replied, a bit unphased. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing. Just thought it looked nice.”

    Erwin’s brows furrowed lower.

“What? Too out of character?” Levi huffed.

“A little bit, yes.” It was indisputably an understatement. 

“I’m halfway through a bottle of Gewurzt,” he explained, and Erwin distinctly heard him take several long gulps. “Three quarters now.”

     Erwin’s face untied with a smile. He should have known Levi had been drinking, there couldn’t possibly be any other explanation for such idyllic musings – even then, it felt strongly out of place. 

“Any reason for that?” he enquired, now concerned he’d interrupted a sacred ritual.

“Any reason I shouldn’t?” he retorted smugly. “Isabelle’s out for the night. Hanging out with that student of yours, actually. So I’m just enjoying the quietness.”

    His explanation didn’t offer much, but the casual tone of his voice was comforting. Reassured that it wasn’t sorrow that Levi was drowning in alcohol, Erwin reckoned he’d let Levi actually enjoy his time alone.

 “I see. Then I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

    The end of his sentence got lost in Levi’s sudden outburst. It took Erwin a few seconds to understand he was talking to the cats. He went on, grumbling through loud rattles and thuds, familiar sounds of spilled kibble and the flicker of a lighter. Erwin waited patiently for Levi to remember the phone call was still going. Although, when he began to hum a familiar tune in between drags from his cigarette, Erwin wondered if he may have been too quick to assess Levi’s mood.

“Levi?” he called lowly. “Is everything alright?”

“Sure. Things are great. Can’t I just enjoy some time alone without your patronage?”

“Of course,” Erwin assured. “I was only wondering, if you wanted to talk or anything.”

“I’m talking right now,” he sneered dismissively.

“Alright.”

    The line went silent for a while, apart from the occasional muffled rustling on Levi’s end. Erwin looked at the window once more; the clouds had spread out thin and the sky was dark and dull.

“Are you drinking too?” 

    Erwin stretched his legs, sitting more comfortably in his chair as he deemed that Levi wasn’t ready to hang up quite yet.

“Not tonight, no.”

“Are you going soft on me, Smith?”

    Erwin chuckled.

“I don’t drink every night, you know,” he protested, his cheeks heating up.

“I don’t either,” Levi added quickly on the defensive.

    An amused grin slipped on Erwin’s face. There was an intriguing charm to Levi drunk – talkative, bolder, and a lot less guarded.

“Okay, what should I have next? Chardonnay or Sauternes?” Levi asked after a loud clinking of glass against tile.

“Have you finished that bottle already?”

“Yeah. So, which one?”

    Erwin almost felt like he was being tested, for Levi had proven countless times his fervent devotion to the velvety, honeyed sweetness of the latter.

“What mood are you in?”

“Don’t overthink it, just pick one.”

“Sauternes then.”

    Levi uttered a surprised hum.

“Thought you hated sweet things.”

    Erwin bit at his lower lip to retain a chuckle.

“It is true that I am not too fond of them, although I don’t _hate_ them either… That being said, _you_ ’re the one drinking right now, not me,” he clarified.

    A lull followed his words, so quiet Erwin wondered if the line had cut off.

“Oh, right,” Levi drawled in a long, smoke coated exhale.

    There was more rattle on Levi’s end, some curses about “cats getting in my fucking way” and a short sigh.

“It’s a seventy-one,” Levi stated evasively.

    Erwin wasn’t so up to date with all the intricacies of wine culture, but knew enough to assert that such an aged bottle did not come so easily.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, genuinely curious about just how much Levi cherished his sweet wine.

“I didn’t steal it,” he snapped quickly.

“Never said you did,” Erwin assured with a light chuckle.

    Levi clicked his tongue, his breath ragged with obvious effort.

“Farlan gave it to me,” he explained in a wheeze. “Got it from one of his clients or something.” The distinct pop of a cork being pulled out echoed over his words.

“Seems like a pretty generous gift.”

“Yeah,” Levi steadied his breathing. “Want some?”

“Far be it from me to refuse such an appealing offer,” Erwin started, smile in his voice, “but something tells me this bottle isn’t going to make it through the night.”

“I meant like, now.”

    Erwin cocked an eyebrow.

“I thought you wanted to enjoy your time alone,” he recalled, face tied in a dubious expression.

    Levi didn’t reply, instead audibly moved around again. It went on for a while before silence settled at once.

 “I never said I enjoyed being alone,” Levi muttered, his words drowned in a sip.

    Erwin’s lungs deflated. He closed his eyes, the bareness of Levi’s admission smacked him like a punch in the guts. He understood – oh, he understood – the despair shivering behind Levi’s impassive fort.

“Give me an hour,” he prompted, hurrying up to his feet and slamming the phone receiver down the cradle.

 

    Erwin made it in under fifty minutes. He found Levi sitting under a cloud of smoke, one cat on either side of his slouched figure. Pop music was sputtering out of a radio, and next to it laid the infamous wine bottle. Erwin squeezed into the narrow space left on the sofa. Levi served him one glass, two glasses, three glasses, until the bottle was empty – until his tongue felt like cotton candy, honey coated his throat and his head floated. Levi held himself surprisingly well for someone who had already drank so much, his balance was steady, his words flowed intelligibly. Actually, the only hint of his intoxication was how his runny mouth was. He had been jabbering haphazard trivialities for almost an hour now, and Erwin kept pressing him every time he ran out of things to talk about; he didn’t believe he could ever tire of Levi’s inadvertent candour.

    Levi eventually stopped being responsive to Erwin’s encouragement, and a lull reigned over the room. Even the radio crackled a few last notes before its batteries ran out. Erwin set his half-empty glass down and sank comfortably into the sofa, eyelids fluttering. He was getting light-headed and welcomed the new silence, his eyes following the lazy whipping of Escargot’s tail, snuggled in a ball onto one of the floor cushions. Next to Erwin, Levi slouched further down the sofa, his feet curled over the edge, arms rested over his knees, and yet another cigarette dangling from his lips. 

    The silence dragged on for long minutes, comfortable enough that Erwin thought he may doze off right where he sat. 

“Aggravated assault,” Levi’s hoarse voice cut through the silence, jolting Erwin awake. “Aggravated battery, rather. Robbery, pick-pocketing, shoplifting – same shit really,” he recited, his tone as flat as if he was reading a shopping list.

    Erwin straightened his posture, eyes blinking before they set on Levi’s.

“Uh… What?” was all he managed to say.

“You wanted to know why I went to jail. So, there you go.”

“Oh,” his shoulders dropped, “that’s…”

“What?”

    Erwin remained silent for a little longer, struggling to find anything coherent to say.

“I don’t know,” he admitted in a stern murmur.

“Yeah.”

    Levi leaned over to take another cigarette out of his pack. He lit it up, eyes away from Erwin, and seemed to take genuine interest into making the lighter twirl between his fingers.

“How long did you get?” Erwin dared to ask once he grew dizzy of watching Levi’s hypnotic movements.

“Seven years. Give or take a few months.”

    Erwin breathed in deeply. Slowly. Searching for his next words, he picked up his abandoned glass from the coffee table and nibbled the honeyed wine.

“I can’t imagine what it is like to be in there. Especially for so long.”

    Levi shrugged, tapped his ashes down and crossed his legs, spine bent slightly to face Erwin.

“It's not that hard to figure out. It’s just a boring repetition of the same shit. Eating soggy mush, walking in line, shitting with an audience, right next to your bed. Getting involved in prison fights, then avoiding them once you’ve gotten your ass beaten up enough times you can’t sit for weeks. Cleaning others’ shit – literally. Getting fucked by frustrated, disgusting pigs.” Erwin sucked in a gasp at that, which Levi outright ignored. “Attending shitty _spiritual_ meetings and crap they call therapy. It’s just losers in suits telling you how bad your actions were and who believe the secret to becoming less fucked up lies in breathing exercises,” Levi snorted loudly. “Way too much time on your hands and not enough working out hours on your schedule.” He waved his hand around, leaving a trail of white smoke behind. “That kind of shit.”

    Erwin sat back, eyes on the stem of his glass rolling between his fingers for the moment it took him to swallow it all in. He quickly decided that he’d need another sip from his glass to help it all down.

“I… I don’t know what else I was expecting,” he admitted. “It seems awful.”

    Erwin rolled his eyes at his own lack of eloquence. He was so struck by the reality of Levi’s past that there wasn’t much else his mouth could issue. It seemed good enough for Levi, who shrugged again.

“You get used to it.” That simple sentence made it all sound even more tragic to Erwin’s ears. “The worst part about it all, I’d say, is how much time you get to be inside your own head. Prison has its own way of breaking you up and force the pieces back together in the wrong order,” Levi explained, rubbing the long extinguished end of his cigarette inside the ashtray.

“What did it do to you?”

    Levi was now breaking down every small chunk of ashes into dust.

“I became old in there, I think.”

    Levi clicked his tongue quietly, finally tossing the stub away and turned his head towards Erwin, eyes small but bare. Erwin tried to wash the lump clogging his throat with the remainder of his glass.

“When was it?”

“‘Bout ten years ago. I was twenty-three when I got in. Honestly, it’s a miracle it didn’t happen sooner.”

    Erwin nodded. He thought back on his twenties, the years during which he had graduated from the conservatoire and began teaching there, when orchestras had fought over him until Zackley got hold of him, when he had met Marie, and he became a growing star in his domain. All of which he threw away in the second half of that decade when the insufferable guilt over his father’s death he had buried under prosperity caught up to him, wrapped tight around his throat, cornered him until the only way out was to give it all up and dedicate his life to an alleged selfless cause instead. All of it, in so little time. To think that Levi spent such decisive years locked between four walls, unable to experience life and grow from it, made his guts twist.

“I’m not complaining though,” Levi resumed after a short pause, his eyes squinted at Erwin, like he just heard his every thought. “If they caught me for everything I actually did, I don’t think I would have left that filthy place until I became senile and incontinent.”

    This new information tore Erwin away from his brooding introspection. He would easily give way to his relentless curiosity – made more pressing from his slightly tipsy brain – but he reckoned that it wouldn’t be reasonable to ask Levi to admit to crimes he got away from.

“Do you regret it?” he eventually asked, voice low.

“Regret what exactly?”

    Erwin let his mouth hang open, and closed it again, at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure himself, what he meant with his question.

“There’s no such thing as regrets where I come from,” Levi countered sourly when Erwin failed to reply. “If you can survive, that’s already good enough. Everything else is just trying to get by and hope nothing comes back at you to kick you in the ass.” He shifted in his seat, slumping against the back of the sofa. “Regrets are a privilege for those who have the luxury of options.”

    Erwin nodded, brows knitted together in bashful understanding. Levi exhaled through his nose, a sharp huff, and his eyes darted to Erwin’s.

“You’re full of them,” he stated, gaze stern and heavy.

    Erwin struggled to hold Levi’s glare, and lowered his eyes to his joined knees instead. Ah, yes, Levi could see right through him, and now Erwin wondered how patently his emotions shone on his face. He couldn’t remember when he had stopped trying to hide them away in Levi’s presence; he probably never really did, Levi had always broken through his masquerade like it was paper-thin.

    And regrets, it was true, Erwin crumbled under them.

    The broad movements at Erwin’s side brought his gaze back to Levi, who stood up and slammed the glass he just emptied on the table, and before Erwin’s eyes managed to focus, the edges of Levi’s silhouette outspread in a blur, casting shadows over Erwin’s pupils. A hand suddenly clasped around his shoulder, shoving him deep into the back of the sofa, followed by a heavy knee that dropped between his legs and the fast crash of Levi’s teeth at the side of his neck, right over his pulse, hot and lurched with the rough surface of his tongue. 

     Erwin startled, heart freezing in stupor, breath stuck at the edge of his lungs. His eyelids fluttered in an attempt to regain focus over the sudden jolt that made his intoxicated brain spin, and his hand fumbled until it found purchase on Levi’s arm. It was then, when his defensive reflexes set to overthrow Levi, that Erwin understood the nature of Levi’s actions. 

     Levi wasn’t _attacking_ him – no, it was something even more primal. Something _carnal_.

     Erwin’s eyes widened. Recollections of his dreams crashed like the tide against the walls of his skull in a frenzied mayhem, images and sensations he’d always been so careful to conceal under layers and layers of rationalism before they had a chance to make sense. Erwin’s will to kick Levi away faltered for a fleeting second. It was all, _familiar_. No, it wasn’t – how could it be? 

     Wrong. It was wrong.

     His fingers squeezed around Levi’s arm, a firm push back, and his teeth and lips tore away from Erwin’s neck with a wet smacking sound. Levi stumbled back, gripping Erwin’s shoulder harder for balance, and he froze suddenly, half-sat over Erwin’s lap. His eyes were blown wide, his small irises lost in all that white, twitching with qualm and sheer stupor. Erwin barely noticed Levi’s jaws clench nor the sweet and ash-filled breath catching at the edge of his mouth, his focus solely on the shock storming the greys of Levi’s eyes. Erwin couldn’t tear his gaze away, relentlessly searching for something, anything, to explain this sudden outburst. Erwin sucked in a short breath, it was hard to ignore the burning weight of Levi over his lap, the tense tremor that coursed from where his fingers were locked around Levi’s arm, to Levi’s own fingers clutched around his own shoulder.

     Erwin would believe time had stopped if it wasn’t for the racing of his heartbeat or the gears spinning in his brain – all way too fast. He had lived this before, and just like then, Erwin was but a spectator of his own dream, unable to grasp its meaning, to react against it, to focus on anything but Levi’s seering warmth. But they were just that – the senseless dreams of a lonely man; not anything he ever wished to actually involve Levi in. 

     It felt ironic now, like another trial for Erwin to face, another decision for him to make – to _regret_. A choice that wasn’t even one; it was easy to reckon that whatever Levi wanted of him, Erwin couldn’t give – he did _not_ swing that way – but when it came to actually acting on it and pushing Levi away for good, Erwin only hit the invisible wall of his own lack of conviction.

     He wanted both to push and pull, and the two forces clashed in his brain. His fingers anchored still around Levi’s biceps squeezed harder, and Levi’s alarmed pulse squirmed under Erwin’s hold. He blinked slowly, Levi’s stunned, dazed face coming into focus again. Erwin couldn’t tell if it was this cornered glow in Levi’s eyes that settled his inner turmoil and made his gaze flicker to Levi’s parted lips, still mildly red and slick from the acute bite he had left on Erwin’s neck, its ghost still throbbing slightly with a dull ache. 

     Erwin was about to reel him in, despite the voice that kept telling him he wasn’t _like that_.

     When he looked up again, he found that Levi’s tight scowl had all but vanished, his frown smoothed and his eyelids set so low his lashes shrouded the thin slit of his eyes. The tension winding everywhere he touched Erwin snapped at once, and he slumped down until his forehead nestled in the crook of Erwin’s neck. The grip Levi held on his shoulder slackened, and his other hand fell uselessly at his side. 

     Erwin held his breath, heart hitching, and when Levi only shrunk heavier against him, he sighed his own tension out of his lungs. Was Levi that drunk, to suddenly pass out on him – after jumping onto Erwin so earnestly only moments ago? But Levi’s breathing was too uneven to suggest he fell asleep. No, this wasn’t the right question to ask, Erwin reckoned. He suddenly remembered the downhearted tone of Levi’s voice over the phone – the reason Erwin had rushed there in the first place. Why had Levi been drinking so much to begin with?

     His hand shyly slid from Levi’s arm to wrap around his small ribcage. Whatever was plaguing the man crumbled over him, Erwin was willing to swallow the flood of panic from Levi’s first ravenous reaction and give him the comfort he needed instead. Perhaps it had all been a mishap; Levi was too inept when it came to such things and he had been too drunk to act accordingly. But even if Levi had meant to seek more than platonic contact, Erwin deemed it wasn’t the time nor the place to question Levi’s initial intentions, nor to muse over the fact that he was just about to surrender to them. 

     Erwin waited it out – for Levi to either lean back or say something. He knew Levi well enough by now; encouraging him to open was the best way for him to recoil right back into his shell, and he didn’t want to take advantage of Levi’s exuberant talkativeness when drunk or distressed – it seemed he was both at the moment – to pluck the words out of his mouth. Whether it was about what was happening, or what just happened, Erwin could wait to get the answers. Truthfully, he wasn’t so sure he ever wanted to know about the latter, and blaming this on the wine – both on his and Levi’s part – seemed like the easiest answer at the moment. 

     Aside from the occasional twiddle of his fingertips around the ripples of Levi’s soft jumper, Erwin wasn’t moving. For lack of better things to do, he decided to rest his eyes, and it wasn’t long before gravity pulled his head down slightly. Mussed hair strands tickled the tip of his nose, and Erwin inhaled deeply; Levi’s scent, already familiar – the cold tobacco mingled with lemongrass – fanned out down his lungs. He blinked several times, his lashes catching in Levi’s hair. His eyes closed once more, the rest of Erwin’s senses began to tingle. Now that the storm of Levi’s impulse was gone, Erwin was able to assess how it felt to have this body pressed against his. The weight of Levi’s head, his hand still gripped at his shoulder, his whole body straddled over Erwin’s lap were all oddly grounding. Levi’s breath was steady; it slipped under the collar of Erwin’s shirt to diffuse warmth across his skin. His heartbeat had settled too, Erwin could feel it against its palm wrapped around Levi’s strong and chiseled yet absurdly small core. 

     He wondered if Levi had fallen asleep after all, wondered if he should shake him awake or allow himself to rest there too. Because now that there wasn’t a single sound in the room apart from the dull rumble of passing cars and their own breaths – perhaps, also, Escargot’s sporadic snores – Erwin realised that the comfort he hoped to give Levi was mutual. It had been so long since he’d been held by someone – despite how gawky Levi’s embrace was – that he’d forgotten just how soothing it could be. 

     The familiar click of keys turning in a lock made the decision for him, and Levi was already gone, up and standing with a flame at the end of a cigarette when the front door pushed open behind Isabelle. 

“Oh, Monsieur Erwin!” she squealed once she turned around after kicking off her canvas sneakers. “I didn’t know you were gonna be there.”

     Erwin only nodded, still swimming in a daze for any more coherent greeting.

“Are you back already?” Levi asked, his voice flat and low.

“Oh, I’m so happy to see you again too, big brother,” she retorted, her tongue poking out of her grinning mouth, and she trotted over to peck a loud kiss over Levi’s cheek. 

    She then walked to Erwin, a kiss over each cheek and stooped down to lift her cat in her arms.

“Were you guys seriously having a wine tasting session?” she pointed to the empty bottles. “God, you’re such old men.”

“Yeah, we know how to have fun,” Levi deadpanned in a cloud of smoke.

    Isabelle puffed out a laugh.

“I’m sure you do,” she drawled with another giggle as she slumped down to the place Levi had been previously occupying on the sofa, and leaned over to whisper in Erwin’s ear. “Did you guys really have fun or is he just trying to act like he’s a cool guy?”

    Erwin opened his mouth, but waited before giving his answer. It felt like whatever he said would hold a lot more meaning than Isabelle intended with her jest.

“What about you Isabelle? Did you have fun tonight?” he asked instead of replying, coating his voice with a smile.

“Me?”

    Her gaze went from Erwin to Levi and fell on her lap, where she was scratching her cat behind the ears. She finally looked back at Erwin, and words gushed out of her mouth, yaps about every bit of detail of her evening spent in Historia’s company – from the girl’s cute dress to the shine of the restaurant’s cutlery. Erwin lost her somewhere during the summary of the movie they went to see, his eyes drawn to Levi, who was watching too, behind a glass of water he drank slowly, leaned against the counter, Darjeeling sat against his elbow. The expression laying under his impassive features was hard to read. It stuck with him for the remainder of the evening, and when he rode the train back to Batignolles, he was haunted by the nebulous glow of Levi’s eyes – whether it had been fueled with annoyance or confusion, longing or worry, gratefulness or chagrin.

 

\- - -

 

    It wasn’t all that surprising that Erwin did not hear from Levi for the next few days. However, he couldn’t say if this was how he expected things to play out. It had been all over his mind, that one evening, and the more days passed, the less confident Erwin grew to sort it out. 

     If at first he hoped that Levi had been too drunk to recall his own actions, his prolonged absence – may it only be a few days, it felt like weeks to Erwin – told him Levi’s mind had been a lot clearer than Erwin thought. On the fifth day, Erwin thus believed the reason for Levi’s absence to be because of the man’s own pride; he had crumbled, shown sheer vulnerability right in the crook of Erwin’s arm. He could easily imagine Levi beating himself over it, dreading to face the aftermath of this surge of weakness. As much as Erwin understood Levi in that regard, he also longed to tell him there was nothing to be ashamed of, that he _understood_ it all – how it felt when the abundance of concealed emotions overflowed, when the dam shattered under the waves, and how relieving it was to have someone to catch you and keep you afloat.

     But Erwin also knew how much he was lying to himself, for this to be the only memory running in his conscious thinking. There had been more than Levi’s foundering, and whether Erwin wanted to acknowledge it or not, Levi had explicitly expressed another kind of desire than the one of chaste comfort. Erwin kept pushing the memories of it back underwater in hopes they’d eventually drown.

     And drowned, that’s how Erwin explained it; drowned in alcohol. He knew, deep down, that it was the most pitiable excuse he’d ever came up with. 

     Erwin always tried to be the most thorough and impartial in his thought process, but all his ethics were slipping from his grasp. There was one determining factor he deliberately kept out of the equation – his own volition. Admitting to it would be admitting to matters he certainly didn't have the heart nor the energy to fathom; it would put everything he thought he knew about himself into question, and there was already so much of that lately that he'd rather pretend none of it existed.

     And so, the better solution had been to ignore the subject altogether.

     But the red ghost of Levi's bite lingered at the side of Erwin's neck for days. He saw it every time he faced a mirror, hid it away in daylight, and, in the dead of the night, traced the tip of his fingers alongside it, touch light, eyes closed, skin prickling. It was the reminder that there had been more to Levi's touch that night than a desperate embrace for comfort; no, it wasn't how it started. It started raw and hungry, it started carnal, and Erwin could only ignore it for so long – how it had felt, this fleeting outburst of desire, Levi's but also his own.

     The marking almost burnt now, despite it fading away, and, in his bed too cold and too big, Erwin reckoned he should do something about it. He cared about Levi, that much he couldn't deny. He liked having him around, listening to his quips, wallowing in his powerful notes, sharing tea and wine together. But that was as far as he'd ever expected this relationship to go.

     It made sense then, that Levi would be the most present in his thoughts, no matter their nature; Levi was the only meaningful human interaction he'd had in months. But it shouldn't leave him so vulnerable to his own rising sex-drive – an event that in and of itself meant that Erwin was getting better – and Erwin was willing to go through the ordeal of seeking a partner again, a female one, to share this neglected part of his life. Even a one night stand would do the trick at this point, Erwin thought as his hand travelled from the tender flesh of his neck to the sultry heat pulsing between his legs. He reviewed the blurry faces of all the candidates Hange had gathered over the years whilst he stroked himself without much conviction. When he came however, a few flimsy spurts in a dirty t-shirt, it was with Levi’s name wheezing out of his lips in a frustrated groan, cursing him for showing him how touch deprived he had been and rendering him so weak to such primal instincts.

     This was becoming an issue.

     Yet, in the aftermath, when Erwin recovered his heart rate and sank into the radiant warmth of his blankets, he missed Levi. Perhaps the two of them didn’t have to talk about what happened – and Erwin was pretty convinced that Levi wouldn’t be the one to initiate such a conversation – and leave it in the past entirely. 

     The next day however, Erwin found himself facing yet another issue: he had no idea how to reach Levi, at least, not without coming up as desperate, hence, calling him or showing up at his doorstep was out of the question. He instead decided to try his luck, and, on his journey to his student’s house, went out of his way to stop by the Red Cross station, where he knew food dispensation was still ongoing. He realised, once he stepped in, that it was the first time he’d been there with actual purpose – not the mandatory surge of good conscience that never concluded. Ignoring the bland posters about group therapy, Erwin focused on scanning along the rows of tables full of food cans and cartons. He left moments later, after assessing that his gamble had not paid off.

     He tried again later that day, after stopping by the Palais Garnier and sitting at a nearby café with Hange and Moblit. When the three of them parted, Erwin headed straight to Rue de Rome, having completely forgotten the reason he met with them was to rekindle Hange’s fervent passion for helping Erwin find a suitable date.

     He found Farlan behind the shop counter, a dismantled oboe spread out under his greasy hands. He wiped them quickly on a rag and greeted Erwin merrily.

 “Funny thing you’re here,” Farlan mused once he set back to his task. “Our favourite midget is hanging around in the backroom.”

     Erwin tried not to let his relief show too much on his face, and instead, feigned surprise.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, he barged in a couple hours ago and decided the whole place needed a shakedown.”

    Now that Farlan mentioned it, Erwin noticed the faint smell of detergent mingling with the overwhelming ones of sap and varnish.

“You can go there if you want,” Farlan suggested with a shrug. “That is, if you’re brave enough to face the wrath of Satan.”

“Not in the best mood then, I’m assuming?”

“Nope.”

    Erwin nodded and assured Farlan he would take all the precautions required to avoid being scorched alive. When he pulled the thick curtain leading to the storage room, he barely recognised it from the time he’d set the deal to exchange Marie’s piano. All the bits and pieces of instruments that had been scattered all over the working stations then, the cobwebs woven between crowded shelves and the towers of card boxes had been wiped away, by none other than the dark shadow balanced on a stool while placing heavy binders on a shelf, his back turned to Erwin.

    Flat beats were sputtering out of the headset Levi was wearing, made easily visible by the way his hair was tied in a quick bun. Erwin waited, fingers fidgeting mindlessly with a pen he found on the table until Levi turned around and saw him. Levi startled, almost slipping from his perch. He managed to step down gracefully nonetheless before he pulled his walkman out of his jeans, hit the pause button and slid the headset around his neck.

“The hell are you doing here, Blondie?”

“Just… browsing,” Erwin made up quickly. “What about you?”

    Levi crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Cleaning, ain’t that obvious?” He held his gaze tall and proud for another moment. His shoulders then sagged, and he pulled a chair onto which he dropped with a sigh. “Hiding.”

“Oh,” Erwin whispered, his cheeks heating up slightly.

“Not…” Levi rolled his eyes. “Not from _you_. Just– yeah. There’s too many people everywhere all the time in this bloody city. Even in my own home, it’s… I just can’t be bothered,” he admitted.

    Erwin lowered his gaze, teeth nibbling at his lips. He placed the pen back down.

“Are you alright?”

“Why are you always asking this question?” Levi shrunk in his seat, legs crossing together tightly.

“Because…” Erwin closed his mouth, frowning instead. “Because I’m concerned,” he finally admitted, the words coming out like a question.

    Levi scoffed and swiftly moved to pull the ashtray closer to him.

“That’s new,” he sneered, eyes on his pack of Camels. “I’d rather you weren’t.”

    Erwin chewed the inside of his cheeks with a drawn-out sigh. His fingers drummed against the table, and his eyes suddenly darted back to Levi’s sullen stare.

“I’m going to Italy next week,” Erwin blurted out on an impulse.

“Okay?”

“Come with me.”

    Levi froze, the flame of his lighter centimeters from the tip of his cigarette.

“What?”

“It’ll be in the middle of nowhere. There are more sheep than people living there. Everything else is just lakes and mountains.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Levi asked again, irritation grating the back of his voice.

    Erwin’s hand glided alongside the varnished surface of the table, eyes set on Levi’s. He reckoned, after the recent events that smudged the boundaries of their relationship blurrier, that the invitation could be interpreted in ways he never intended. Erwin shook the thoughts away; it wasn’t about _this_. It was for Levi’s sake. And, if Erwin was being completely honest, he could use the company.

“You need time away from the loudness of the city, time to recharge,” Erwin explained. “I think it could be a good idea. You won’t have to hang around the house or anything. If you don’t want to see or talk to anyone, you don’t have to. You’re more than welcome to spend your time alone in your room or even outdoors. The weather shouldn’t be as harsh as it is here.”

    Levi’s eyebrows were furrowed tight. He tapped the ashes of his smoke repeatedly.

“Thanks but no thanks.”

“Let me give this to you,” Erwin insisted.

“If I ask why, are you gonna say more bullshit about you being _concerned_?”

“Yes.”

    Levi clicked his tongue and sat back, arms crossed again, cigarette locked between his gritted teeth.

“I can’t afford it.”

“I said I’m giving this to you.”

    Levi’s nose scrunched up.

“I can’t get days off as I please, unlike some other people.”

    Through a deep sigh, Erwin rubbed the bridge of his nose. Levi could be especially thick when he had decided so.

“Are you arguing for the sake of it, or do you not want to come?”

    His head snapped to the side in a puff of white smoke.

“Okay, whatever,” he grunted with a shrug, finally withdrawing the stick from his mouth. “Maybe I can ask for a few days, it’s not like I ever take them anyway. But that’s not…” he paused, stalling as he rolled the tip of his cigarette against the brim of the ashtray. “I don’t want to– Why are you even going in the first place?”

“I’m visiting Pixis.”

“Dot Pixis? The composer?” Levi asked with widening eyes.

“Yes, he’s… an old friend of mine.”

    Levi snorted at that, sending Erwin a supercilious look.

“Huh, look who hangs around the big crowd,” he huffed, making no efforts to enunciate his words properly around the filter of his cigarette.

“That’s… not the point,” Erwin dismissed quickly. “Levi, you don’t have to socialise if you don’t want to. He won’t mind.”

    It took Levi another moment to finally let go of the scornful cast of his face, his features softening slowly to unveil ones of manifest weariness.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t speak Italian anyway. Or English, or any other language for that matter,” he replied with the intent of mimicking his earlier spiteful tone, but it was direly lacking in substance.

    Erwin’s lips stretched at the edges, a relieved sigh wafting in between.

“Are we set then?”

“I never said I agreed to any of this.”

“Levi.”

    He rolled his eyes, stomped the stub of his cigarette down and nibbled at the chemically dried splits around his fingernails.

“When did you say it was?”

“At the end of next week, Thursday to Sunday.”

    Levi’s head dropped down, shadows swallowing all of his features, the sounds of his teeth scraping against his nails echoing like a presence in the otherwise silent room.

“I’ll think about it,” Levi muttered eventually, rising to his feet, gaze down still.

    He seized the duster and turned his back to Erwin, getting back to his task without so much as another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags/warnings:  
> \- brief mention of rape  
> \- slight dub-con (if you squint hard enough)  
> \- implied sexual content


	10. CODA - chapter x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Melody_Of_The_River](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Of_The_River/pseuds/Melody_Of_The_River) and [TheIndifferentDroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid) for beta reading!
> 
> (additional tags/warnings in the end notes)

 

 

“Want some water?”

“Thanks.”

    Erwin picked the bottle from Levi’s hand to take a few sips. The cold water soothed the heated flare of the winter sunlight that had been swirling over his skin through the tree leaves. The two of them had been walking for over an hour, setting out for a hike shortly after lunch, and whilst the air wasn’t warm by any means, the contrast with the biting cold from Paris was striking enough to make it feel like spring already. 

    They had landed in Milan the previous day, and after the few hours drive in Pixis’ car, made it to the composer’s villa at the foothills of the Italian Alps around dinner time. Pixis’ talents in the kitchen had always been somewhat limited, but the hearty minestrone he served brought Erwin decades back, dredging up warm memories embedded in the back of his mind when he used to spend most of his summers in the secluded house. Everything had changed since then, there was no denying it. The house felt even bigger now, as if the ghost of whatever used to live there had escaped the four walls to take up space in the crow's feet around Pixis' eyes instead. 

    Levi barely filled the nameless void, but even his scant presence helped with Erwin’s plaguing dread of coming face to face alone with Pixis. It seemed enough too, for Pixis to act engaging and kind, like it was but an insouciant reunion. Erwin wasn’t so gullible to assume it was; he’d heard enough from Zackley over the years to rightfully apprehend how much loneliness and liquor transformed the former composer into a dreary old soul.

    If nothing else, it was Levi that Erwin’s concern gravitated towards. He had been mostly quiet the whole day, his gaze always somewhere Erwin couldn’t find it. Erwin worried he’d forced Levi’s hand after all, for he now admitted to himself that his invitation may not have been as altruistic as he made it seem. He wanted to trust Levi to be outspoken enough not to let himself be dragged into this trip against his will, and as the evening went by, Erwin found he’d assumed correctly. It began shy, but eventually Levi opened up and replied to Pixis’ efforts at uttering his rusty French. 

    It was later, once draped in the cosy glow of the fireplace cracking in the lounge, that Levi truly startled Erwin, for he willingly joined the two musicians in their humble duet. It may all have been thanks to Pixis’ generous sharing of his liquor collection, but as piano, cello, and violin – Pixis’ choice of instrument for that night – rang together in a mismatched series of notes, Erwin’s concern became laughter and undue pride as he caught Pixis’ attentive gaze following the flow of Levi’s bow. Whatever heavy subjects were to be discussed between the two old friends almost laid forgotten, and Erwin’s sleep came easy with the quiet lull of owl hoots.

 

    Erwin passed the water bottle over as a wide streak of silver light unveiled an already sunkissed blush onto Levi’s cheeks and nose, and his gaze lingered there with a dormant, contented smile. It wasn’t long until they reached the edge of the small forest of lush pine trees, dry wood cracking under their steps, and found a faded trail leading down to an open landscape of green hills and washed stone ridges that stretched out of sight in a diluted blur of white mountain tops and low clouds. They kept walking, Erwin a few steps ahead, the silence of their voices leaving place to the whistle of wind and the distant birds’ chirping. Erwin felt like he was wandering in memories, foggy but soothing ones. It had been far too many years since he’d seen it all, so much so that he wasn’t confident about the path he was taking. There should be a lake somewhere nearby, and he kept his eyes vigilant for any sign that may help his navigation.

“What’s beyond that hill over there?” Levi asked, finger pointed to the side.

    The hill was only a few meters tall but extended far alongside the path, its flanks sharp and grey, a scarce line of trees capped at the top. It looked familiar.

“If I am not mistaken, I think there is a small lake over to the other side.”

“You have no bloody idea where we are, have you?”

    Erwin smiled warmly, eyes scanning over the landscape and flying back to Levi at the snap of his tongue.

“Alright, let’s go check it out then,” Levi prompted, heading towards the foot of the hill.

    Erwin swallowed, halting as he looked over the hill; it wasn’t overly steep, but reaching the top would still require climbing skills that went beyond Erwin’s capacities. He chewed his lower lip as Levi was already making his way up. He remembered there to be a path leading to the lake on flat ground a few hundred meters further.

“Levi,” he called, covering his eyes from the sun with his hand.

“Come on,” Levi’s voice was soft, beckoning.

“I don’t believe this to be the most practical path.”

“God, why do I even bother with you, old man?” Despite the harsh words, there was an amused lilt to his voice.

“You’re the one who asked me to come with you, remember?” Erwin retorqued in the same tone. “I told you that you could go explore on your own to your heart’s content.”

    Levi took a step backwards, his heels balanced over the keen tip of a rock.

“Yes, you did. And you also agreed to go out with me, so now you’re gonna have to own up to it.” His eyes were gleaming with challenge and an overall poise Erwin had rarely seen on his features. “Come on,” Levi repeated, his voice even gentler than the first time, and Erwin couldn’t refuse him.

    He walked over to the hill, eyes mapping out the path that’d be the most viable for him; it would require a lot of twists and turns, but it didn’t seem unattainable. His ascension was slow and full of detours, and, taking a break to look up to Levi, he found him already at the top, leaning nonchalantly against a tree trunk, a smoke between his lips. Erwin picked up the pace as much as the terrain allowed him and had to come to a halt before the last leap; there was no way for him to make it up without having to actually climb, and so he only stood there, his head coming at level with Levi’s ankles.

“How the view up there?” he asked in a light tone, not so much bothered by the fact that he couldn’t share what ought to be a breathtaking sight with Levi.

“Why are you asking me when you can see it for yourself? Come on, climb up already,” Levi urged.

    Erwin tied and untied his eyebrows; as much as he appreciated how casually Levi liked to treat him, there were still limitations due to his handicap that couldn’t be overlooked. Climbing almost two meters up with only one arm was definitely one of those. Yet, before Erwin could voice his thoughts, Levi locked his cigarette back between his lips and crouched down, one hand reaching out. Erwin stared at it for a moment before taking it in his own. Levi’s fingers wrapped tightly around Erwin’s hand and pulled up with incredible strength. Erwin fumbled with his feet to find anchor in the irregularities of the rocky cliff, and the mutual effort paid off moments later when Erwin almost crushed Levi’s feet under his own as he was being hoisted up vigorously. He struggled for balance, held still by Levi’s strong grip, their bodies close and radiating with warmth. Their gazes met, locked onto one another, and the thin gap between the two of them filled with a tension oddly akin to hesitation.

“Fuck, you’re heavy.” Suddenly, as if it started to burn, Levi withdrew his hand from Erwin's and raised it to the cigarette at his mouth instead.

“Sorry,” Erwin stepped to the side to restore a more decent distance between them and dusted the chalk off his knees.

“Well, you’ve gotta keep that giant ass body of yours fed, don’t you?” Levi quipped, his words almost lost in the air when he began walking away.

    A cool breeze skidded over Erwin’s heated cheeks, and he followed Levi to the opposite edge of the hill, finally raising his gaze to face the vast open landscape before them. There slept the lake he remembered dabbling in when he was younger. It was uncanny, how nothing had changed in almost twenty years; the waters were as clear and peaceful as they used to be, their gentle current lapping over buffed pebbles, following the downward flow of the valley. 

“It’s nice,” Levi whispered.

“See that little isle in the middle? In summertime, you can swim up to it. Being there feels like the most remote place on earth.”

    Levi sat down, his feet swaying over the edge.

“Doesn’t sound half-bad, actually.”

“Perhaps another time, when the water’s not so cold.”

“Yeah.”

    Erwin stood behind him, taking in the deep green of the pine trees, the desaturated hues of the pebbly shore and the shiny ripples of the water reflecting the comforting sun. That and Levi’s warmth lingering in the centre of his palm made it easy to forget it was actually cold. Gratefulness welled-up in his chest for the view Levi offered him: the vastness of the scenery that stretched far ahead, all lush green and snow white. When Erwin focused his vision however, it was the coal of Levi’s hair he was seeing, and the equally dark puddle formed by his curled up body draped in black. He fitted well in the otherwise rich yet faded colours of their surroundings, and Erwin considered pulling his disposable camera out and capture the image.

“Erwin,” Levi called suddenly, “eyes on the lake.”

    He jumped slightly and immediately snapped his head upwards, feeling warmth spread over his cheeks once more for being caught staring. 

“Sorry.”

    Erwin wondered if there was more he ought to say, if now was the time to talk about what happened and set the record straight about where their relationship stood. But he quickly found that he himself struggled to make sense of his thoughts. Instead, he sat down next to Levi and followed his advice, looking over the sunkissed valleys and mountains this vantage point offered.

“Do you have that camera? I promised the brat I’d take pictures.”

“Of course.”

    Erwin pulled the Kodak camera out of the pocket of his coat and traded it with the cigarette pack and lighter Levi was holding.

“May I?” he asked, shaking the half-empty pack.

“Help yourself, big boy.”

    Levi snapped a couple of pictures while Erwin fumbled to light his smoke, then slipped the camera back in Erwin’s pocket. His intrigued gaze weighed over Erwin’s shoulders.

“What’s up?”

    Erwin cocked an eyebrow at Levi’s question.

“You–” he waved at the cigarette in Erwin’s hand – a vice he only nourished when the mood called for it. “Nevermind.” Levi shrugged and rose to his feet, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. “So, are we going down to that lake or is it gonna be too hard for your crippled ass to get back up afterwards?” he added, bending down to gauge the keenness of the slope.

“There’s a path on plain ground, actually, we can exit through there,” Erwin said pointing his finger to the side.

“Oh.” Levi stretched his shoulders and looked down to Erwin again with a shy nibble at his lower lip. “So, you used to come here often or something then?”

    Erwin breathed in and out slowly. There was no mistaking Levi’s intention with his seemingly innocent question, and Erwin deemed it only fair that he indulged him – after all, Erwin had been the most secretive of the two when it came to the tales of his past.

“Yes. I spent most of my teenagehood summer holidays here,” he started cautiously, eyes set on the waters bellow. “Pixis was an old friend of my father’s, and we took the habit of coming here to study music. Pixis is a mentor of sorts.”

“Huh. So that drunkard is a lot more of a person than he lets on, isn’t he?”

“He’s one of the most influential composers of our time, yes. I realise how lucky I’ve been to study under his supervision. He’s the man behind most of what I know. My father was a remarkable musical expert, but there was only so much he could teach me.”

    Levi shifted his weight and crossed his arms, his gaze narrow and piercing.

“What does your father do?”

“Music theory teaching,” Erwin replied, electing to ignore Levi’s use of the present tense.

    A huff ragged through Levi’s lips and he sat back down, snatching the cigarette pack from Erwin’s hand. The conversation was only now starting.

“Don’t kids usually do everything to _not_ become like their parents?”

    It was Erwin’s turn to huff, an ambiguous chuckle filled with white smoke. He tapped the ashes of his cigarette and straightened his spine.

“I suppose that’s a thing, isn’t it?” He paused, warm smoke fanning out in his lungs. “My father passed when I was seventeen. So I guess I just… It felt like the right thing, to take over, to give everything he’s given me to the next person.”

“Oh. Aren’t you a selfless bastard?”

    Erwin scoffed, and the thick smoke leaping out of his mouth burnt his throat. There was more to this story looming in the dark corners of Erwin’s soul, tucked behind heavy bars; Levi knew it, and now he was prying the locks open.

“I’m… really not.” He sighed until his lungs were empty. “It was my fault.”

“Huh?”

“He died because of me.”

    He heard Levi’s breath hitch, and peered a bashful glance over to him. His eyes were wide despite his furrowed brows, and one of his legs was bouncing. Erwin snapped his head away and instead closed his eyes, taking in the peaceful, quiet song of the wind swirling between trees’ branches.

“I will spare you the tales of a teenage boy, whose, as you once put it, foolishness knows no limits.” 

    He’d told it before, the horrendously mundane story of how he’d sneaked out of the house one night, as teenagers do, and came back home to an empty house right before dawn, how the authorities rang at his door with the gut-wrenching news of the car crash – it had then been easy to put two and two together. A story Erwin had been beating himself over until he couldn’t stand any longer. One that, every time he dared to utter it  – barely a handful – he’d despised the dull tone of his voice, because that’s all it was: a dull story. He couldn’t fathom having to go through yet another torrent of self-contempt. 

“But in the end, my father still died in that car crash, and I’m still the only one responsible for what happened.”

“Then what?” Levi’s dark tone weighed like a stone in Erwin’s stomach. “Because you’ve stuffed yourself with so much guilt you choked on it, you thought you’d redeem yourself by living _his_ life instead of your own?”

    Erwin opened his mouth and closed it to empty words. He took a long drag from his cigarette instead, swallowed the smoke and let it swirl in his lungs until it prickled. He did it again, until there was nothing left to consume, and he rubbed the stub against the cold stone of the ground, breaking it down to nothing but ashes and shredded paper. Levi watched, silent, but the burn of his gaze spoke loud – whether with compassion, with pity or exasperation – making Erwin open his eyes to thoughts he never wanted to face. 

“You don’t understand.”

    Levi huffed, the sound filled with vexation, and he plucked a cigarette from his pack he’d been fidgeting between his fingers.

“You need to stop saying that. You think _I_ don’t understand?” He spat, dormant rage trembling in his voice. “You really think I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone and keep telling yourself that you could have done something to prevent it? Over and over again, until you can’t fucking function anymore?”

    Erwin swallowed his next intake of air thickly against the lump in his throat. His eyes dropped down to his own feet dangling off the cliffside, and it bothered him more than ever to see how sloppily his shoelaces were tied. He’d never doubted Levi’s cleverness, but with how scarce and foul his language usually was, it was easy to undervalue the real extent of his wits.

“I’m sorry.”

    The clicking, persistent flickers from the lighter were the only response Levi deemed to offer. The silence finally settled with a cloud of cigarette smoke, and it dragged on until it felt like the whole world had stopped breathing – no more whistle of the wind, no more birds’ chirping, no more muted run-off of the river. Erwin ought to say something, but his brain was drawing a blank.

“Did you kill him?”

    Erwin’s eyes opened wide, his heart racing, and he snapped his head to Levi, whose hooded gaze met his, the greys soft-edged and diluted, a mesmerising lament, and Erwin felt incredibly selfish for the relief that washed over him at the sight.

“No,” Erwin breathed out.

“Then it’s not your fault.” The cigarette between his fidgety fingers was bouncing up and down. “Shit happens. It sucks, but that’s how it is. Beating yourself over it won’t change anything. You couldn’t have known what would happen that day, could you?” Erwin’s gaze fell on his own lap. “Then stop guilt-tripping yourself over something that’s beyond your control.”

“I…”

“Come on,” Levi rose to his feet and dusted the back of his jeans. “Let’s go to that puddle.”

    He had already jumped to the first rock, on his way to another, when Erwin blinked out of his daze. He did not follow however, rooted in the cold stone. His head fell in his palm, fingertips rubbing the corners of his eye sockets, and when they eventually slid down, he almost expected to wake up and see the cracked paint of his ceiling, back in Paris.

    Levi was seated by the waters when Erwin joined him minutes later, perched on a rounded rock, shoes and socks laid next to him. His toes were dipped in the clear water, curling and uncurling, drawing patterns in the ripples skidding in between, as if the icy cold water did not affect him despite the purple hue tinting his milky skin. He scooted to the side, a clear invitation which Erwin took, and he sat down cross-legged next to him. The sun was high in the sky, and the only shadows on Levi’s face were the ones of his eyelashes draping stripes over his sun-glazed cheeks. It suited him, the colours that sparked life on his skin, from red to purple, reflected by surroundings that were not the foggy grey shades of Paris.

    Erwin shied away from his musings, torn by a quiet splashing sound and the rustling of fabric. He already knew what was about to happen, and so, when Levi climbed over his lap in one swift motion, Erwin let him. Levi seized the lapels of Erwin’s coat, pushed him back until his balance stumbled. Hot breath bounced against his lips as Levi’s face came close, so close that when Erwin looked up, it was the blue of his own eyes he saw in Levi’s pupils. He kept getting closer, slow and diffident – all the confidence and urgency from that one evening were gone. Still, his intentions were just as clear. Except they were both sober this time, and Erwin couldn’t find any excuse to explain his yielding. Because now too, he wanted this.

“Levi,” Erwin breathed out as his hand held onto Levi’s shoulder, preventing him from getting any closer. “I’m not…”

    Not what? Attracted to men? That was not the issue – it had never been the issue, no matter how much Erwin had tried to convince himself it was. The issue was that he’d made a whole living of denying himself – Levi just reminded him of it – and giving in to something that had the potential to be good would force Erwin to have a one-on-one talk with himself – no more excuses, no more concealing who he was and how he felt. It would lift him from the abyss into which he trapped himself his whole life, and the wicked comfort that came with it. Erwin wasn’t ready to turn his back to his herd of ghosts awaiting for him to repay the crippling debt he owed them. He wasn’t ready to care for his starved self-indulgence instead. There was the proper reason behind the denial of the magnetic pull Levi worked on him.

    He cleared his throat and pushed Levi away gently, eyes dipping to the side so he wouldn’t face his reaction.

“Let’s stop this now, shall we? This isn’t a good idea.”

    Levi flinched. His fingers uncurled, slipped down the front of Erwin’s coat before withdrawing. The weight over his lap lifted away. The silence that had until this point sailed easily in sweeping meanders, sank heavily.

“You’re right. You’re not worth the hassle,” the flat yet weak tone left a dull echo in Erwin’s eardrums.

    Erwin swallowed, refused to raise his eyes, even when Levi’s light footsteps echoed away. He held his breath until his lungs stung, then released the stale air slowly. His heart rate steadied but the ache subsisted. He dared to peer a look at Levi’s already distant silhouette, stark black against white, and Levi halted, as if the weight of Erwin’s gaze hindered him, to turn on his still bare heels.

“You said the trail back was this way, didn’t you? What are you waiting for? Let’s go back, it’s starting to freeze out there.”

    Erwin sighed, carried his shrivelled bones up to standing. Levi was right: it had gotten cold, all of a sudden.

 

\- - -

 

    The remainder of the afternoon was spent in the cozy confines of Pixis’ villa. They found the man lounging in one of the many sofas of the main salon, close to the welcoming flames of the fireplace, a full glass of amber liquid swirling in his hands. He offered some, but both his guests settled for a cup of tea instead. Levi lingered there for a while, not chatty but showing no sign of grievance either; it eased Erwin’s strained lungs. When the night fell, Levi moved to the veranda, tucked in a blanket with a whole steaming teapot and a book – he’d borrowed more from Erwin before they left, to his pleasant surprise. Erwin wandered around the salon, pacing between the fireplace and the veranda’s entrance, careful not to find himself around Pixis for more than a few moments at a time, purposely delaying the moment he’d have to sit face to face with his mentor. Finding a way out of his impending perdition was the reason Erwin came here in the first place and he knew he could only teeter under the sword of Damocles looming in Pixis’ questioning gaze for so long, but the day already brought its heavy load of exertion, and Erwin couldn’t go through any more.

    When he woke up the next morning and found that Levi had already set sail outside on his own, he understood that he had no more excuses to dance around the subject. He waited in dread until lunch – which he barely touched – and followed Pixis in front of the hearth, his tail between his legs. 

“Why don’t you sit at the piano and humour me for a bit, my boy?” Pixis requested as he poured himself a copious glass of Marsala.

“What would you like me to play?”

“What do you want to play?”

    It was a rhetorical question, and Erwin nodded quietly, pulling the old leather cushioned stool from under the grand piano. He decided on one of Debussy’s Préludes, the tune being fresh in his mind from his recent practice with one of his students; it was unduly chirpy for Erwin’s taste, but he hoped to set a light mood before what was inevitably coming.

“That’s what I thought,” Pixis muttered after the echo of the last note faded. “Interesting choice, coming from you, Erwin,” he remarked, clearly this time, squinted eyes scanning Erwin. “I was expecting Bloch or Mahler. Schubert even.”

“I thought this could lift the spirits.”

    Pixis cracked a hearty laugh.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m not as miserable as you yet,” he gibed after a generous gulp from his glass.

    The wrinkles scattered over his face eased into a neutral expression, and he gestured for Erwin to sit next to him.

“So, who’s that gloomy fellow you brought with you? Your new student?”

    Erwin allowed himself an exhale of relief at the choice of topic. He knew it’d be short lived, but elected to cherish it for what it would last.

“Not quite. He’s just a friend. He plays the cello sometimes and I give him advice from time to time, nothing more.”

“That’s what I thought,” Pixis said again, and Erwin knew to brace himself for what the man’s dark tone announced. “He doesn’t play in your style at all.”

“My style?” Erwin scoffed, keeping his gaze proud despite the apprehension. “Do I even have a style anymore?”

“No, you don’t. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

    Erwin only smiled, bittersweet but unyielding.

“This boy though… His technique is absolutely dreadful, but his playing has panache. I like that.”

“I agree. There’s something endearing about the way he plays.”

“I hope you never infuse him with your clinical ways. What a waste it would be.”

    Erwin smiled again, this time barely managing to keep a straight face. Pixis stood up, retrieved a crystal glass from the console tucked against the wall and filled it with wine. The screech when it slid to Erwin’s side of the coffee table sounded like a threat. He took it quietly, not daring to refuse – drinking so early in the day was a habit he tried not to fall back into – for right now, he was a child about to receive a well-deserved scolding, and there was no need to add fuel to the fire.

“Why are you here, Erwin?”

    Erwin took the opportunity offered by the glass to stall for time and sipped ever so slowly. The sweet, almond flavoured wine streamed all the way down his stomach, and he failed to fathom a suitable answer.

“I’m… not sure.”

“Have you been writing lately?”

“I stopped writing a while ago, you know it.”

“Then I am not sure what I can do for you either, Erwin,” Pixis concurred lowly.

    Erwin lowered his gaze to his quivering knee. He shifted his leg so it would stop. More than he feared that there was nothing more to be said, he feared that this was but the first ripple of the wave. Pixis gulped the rest of his drink and poured himself another, all in a looming silence.

“I haven’t written music in a long time either, you know.”

    Erwin’s eyes shot back up to the man before him. He had not expected to hear him admitting to his own flaws so plainly. He was not used to this; he’d only ever seen Pixis as this towering force of nature, the stone pillar of the musical world built upon pages and pages of the most favourable critics, gold plated with countless awards, an undisputed master who once dedicated years to pass on his talents to an earnest Londonian boy.

“So I’ve heard,” Erwin allowed the first layer of his impassive mask to crumble. “It’s an unfathomable loss to the classical music scene. Your pieces are the work of a genius.”

    Pixis rolled the tip of his moustache between his fingers, hiding a bittersweet smile.

“That’s what I’ve been told, yes. But that I stopped writing after a career of over forty years is not the real tragedy here. Do you know what it is, Erwin?” He paused, reclining back into the sofa, gaze piercing onto Erwin. “It is that you never bothered to complete your very first piece. Hell, it is that, at one point, you elected it was better to give up on music altogether and for what? Dropping bombs overseas.” He grunted. “Don’t try to make this conversation about me when we both know it isn’t.”

    Something snapped inside Erwin’s guts, a sharp twist that pulled his heart right in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaws clenching, struggling to swallow. He only had himself to blame for the bare disappointment coating Pixis’ words. The man used to believe in him, had taken him under his wing, gave him everything and more to secure the full bloom of his potential. An innate gift for music and a fervent passion Pixis devoted years funneling, conducting, feeding. Erwin had taken it, and thrown it all away.

“I’m sorry, Pixis.”

    Pixis’ gaze was smouldering holes through Erwin and scorching his guts.

“It’s not me you should be apologising to.” He took a sip. “You are a musical genius.” Another sip. “You had it all: the talent, the devotion, the Olympic torch, the hard work. The support and guidance.” Another. “Why don’t you write anymore? Why did you give up on your career?” The empty glass rattled against the marble of the table, its hollow reverberation ringing like the drag of Erwin’s shackles.

“You know why,” Erwin’s lips quivered slightly, but he stubbornly held onto his last shreds of poise.

“I want to hear you say it.”

    Pixis poured himself another glass, Erwin finished his.

“Because of my father.”

“That’s not it.”

“It is.”

“No, it’s not. I’ll tell you why. Because you never allowed yourself to feel. To grieve. Because you swallowed up all of your emotions. Because instead of embracing them, you turned them into cancer.”

    An imperceptible nod was all Erwin managed.

“Do you know why I stopped writing?” Pixis resumed. “Because I’ve got nothing left to say. But you, you’re sitting on a goldmine of stories awaiting to be told, if only you dared to face them. You sabotaged your career as well as your own life because of it.” 

    If Pixis’ voice had been unbearably flat so far, now there was a tinge of sadness to it, and Erwin couldn’t say which of the two was the hardest to swallow. He closed his eyes for a fleeting second, pulling his brows down with his eyelashes. The words burnt, but only because they were true.

“Erwin,” he murmured. “Every note I’ve heard from you since you came here has been shallow, sterile. You don’t like music anymore.”

    Erwin’s breath hitched. A jolt of electricity coursed down his spine. 

“That’s not–”

    Pixis raised his hand, and Erwin fell silent.

“There’s no passion left in you. Your music is painful to hear. You abhor the piano, and over what? Rancour? It’s not the instrument’s fault if you damaged yourself so much you can’t touch a cello anymore. You brought this upon yourself, and you wear martyr so splendidly it feels like you did this to yourself on purpose.” Pixis sighed into his glass. “Look at that friend of yours. He’s everything you’re not. Everything you should be.”

“Levi?”

“He is like a child, and this is the best compliment I could ever say to anyone. I used to think the same about you.” He shook his head, dismissing the thought. “He plays because he wants to. There’s no other reason behind it than just enjoying making notes come out of his cello. He doesn't care if they're right, he just likes it. He pours everything he has into it, no matter how little. He feels it. When was the last time you felt it too? Felt anything at all?” The wine swirled in his hands. “Erwin, when was the last time you loved?”

    Erwin chewed on his lower lip, deep sigh coming out of his nose. He was about to admit he couldn't remember, but then the memory struck. It dated back to his thirty-eighth birthday, when he passed Farlan's shop and for the first time heard Levi’s notes through the glass door and their faint echo skimmed the air to caress his eardrums. He had felt it then, the sheer candour, heartfelt and, as Pixis just pointed out, childlike, carefree. He only now realised the extent of the impact it left in its wake, the spark that rekindled the fire within himself. If it wasn’t for that moment, Erwin would still be brooding in the shadows of his past self, he’d still harbour the sight of Marie’s piano, still dread it all – the music, the memories, himself. He’d never have come close to a cello ever again, would never have written a single note, whether his or someone else’s.

“What should I do then?” Erwin croaked through the lump in his throat, desperate.

“That concerto you started back in the days. You never finished it, did you?”

“I didn’t.” He had come so close. “I left it somewhere before the coda.”

    A hearty laugh erupted from Pixis’ mouth.

“Ah, and you got me thinking you weren’t sentimental. You just couldn’t see it come to an end and move on, could you? Now, maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought.” He smirked, and the air no longer felt so heavy. “But it’s time to let go now. Dig it up, read it again, play it, feel it. Remember who wrote it, and let yourself become that person again. And then finish it.”

“I don’t think I can…” Erwin aborted his sentence with a click of his tongue; it sounded too much like an excuse. 

“What’s stopping you, Erwin?”

“Myself,” he replied in a broken voice.

    Pixis nodded and leaned over to rest a hand over Erwin’s knee.

“You went through many tragic ordeals, yes. But now you've got to accept it. Own it. And pour it into what makes you feel alive, create something new, something beautiful, something that'll make all that suffering count for something... Otherwise, what's the point?”

    Erwin’s eyelids fluttered, and finally dared to look Pixis in the eyes.

 “Teach me, please,” he begged. “Teach me how to free myself from this burden.”

    Pixis took his hand back to his mustache, down to his chin, and let it fall around his glass again.

“There’s nothing more I can teach you, my boy. You see, some things you can learn from school, books and theories, from old men like me. But the rest of it you have to see, to feel, to experience.” He pointed his forefinger and pressed it against Erwin’s heart. “Nobody can do it but yourself.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags/warnings:  
> \- mentions of death


	11. CODA - chapter xi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry for the time it took me to get this chapter up, I've been both sick and extremely busy this past month. Sadly, I think the next chapters will also take their sweet time to be released (tho, on that note, the next one should be reaaaaaaally long~)
> 
> Also, I'm super excited to tell you that my very dear Marie made [ the cover](https://seitsen-sarvi.tumblr.com/post/189042244258/coda-by-crownlessking-i-had-the-pleasure-of-doing) for this story, it is beyond perfection and captures the essence of the story so well, and just... yeah. It's perfect. You should all go check it out and give her all the love she deserves~
> 
> As usual, big thanks to [TheIndifferentDroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndifferentDroid) for beta-reading this!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> (additional tags/warnings in the end notes)

 

    Pixis excused himself later in the afternoon after mentioning something about his old bones and a medical appointment, and promised to be back around dinner time. Erwin paced around the salon, found memories in each corner, each shelf, each object that his eyes reached, and he finished his tour by adding wood to the fire and crashing on a chair next to it. He turned the TV on, if only to fill the silence looming in his mind as well as the room. He wasn’t watching, wasn’t thinking, instead floating in a foggy limbo and trying to follow the faint glimmer flashing ahead.

    He had not moved from his place when Levi came back an hour later. They exchanged scarce words barely heard over the sputtering of the television. Erwin caught Levi’s words about needing to wash up, nodded, and turned back to the screen. It was another half-hour until the blabbering Italian news stung his nerves, and he stood up, turned it off and climbed upstairs, thinking he too could use a shower to clear up his head. 

    Pushing the creaky door of his room open, a wave of icy cold smacked a shiver out of him. He looked around and found the window to the en-suite bathroom wide open. He rushed to it before he could question why it wasn’t closed, and slammed it shut again. Besides the rattling of the thin glass, a loud splashing sound erupted, making Erwin jump and turn on his heels at once. He’d been in such a haste to get to the window that he had missed the occupant laying in the bathtub filled to the brim.

“Fuck,” Levi hissed, ripping his headphones off, voice thick and eyes puffy with sleep.

“Oh, sorry,” Erwin flustered. “I didn’t know you were there.”

    Levi groaned, his eyelids fluttering from the silver light basking the room. Bringing his knees together, he sat up and stretched his shoulders, arms and knuckles.

“How come you get to have the room with the en-suite bathroom and _bathtub_ and I have to deal with the shitty shower room at the end of the corridor?” Levi mumbled groggily.

“That doesn’t sound fair indeed,” Erwin conceded lightly, keeping his eyes on the single flower painted tile above the bathtub. “I’ll let you enjoy your bath, I apologise again for disturbing your peace,” he added, taking one step towards the exit.

“It’s fine. The water’s freezing now, I’ll be out in a minute.”

    Water rippled against the walls of the tub as Levi rose to his feet, and Erwin inadvertently slowed the pace on his way out, swallowing hard and making an effort to keep his eyes straight ahead.

“Wait. Could you give me a towel?” Levi called from behind.

“Of course.”

    Erwin took a few steps backwards and fumbled through the cabinets. Levi’s silhouette was prancing around at the corner of his eyes; it wasn’t ostentatious by any means, he was only minding his own business at gathering his belongings scattered around the rim of the bathtub, but Erwin found it exceedly distracting. He handed Levi the towel and stood again, meaning to leave once and for all, but his eyes fell onto the mirror, and behind his own reflection was Levi’s, mussing his hair with the towel cascading across his torso and down to his knees. Head downcast, he was oblivious to Erwin’s gaze – he felt dishonest for stealing such a sight. Tearing his eyes away and clearing his throat, he headed to the door once more.

“Are you done brooding yet?” Levi asked, his voice muffled by the towel he rubbed over his face.

    Erwin halted again, holding in a strung up sigh at Levi’s untimely talkativeness. Granted, Erwin had been around many naked men in his military days and it never affected him in the slightest. He understood that Levi had been through the same situation – except in a very different setting – but at this very moment, considering the already frail boundaries between them, it set the blood of his cheeks on fire. Yet, by natural reflex, he turned around to face Levi, eyebrows raised.

“Brooding? Did I look like I was brooding earlier?”

“When do you not?” Levi snorted, and swooped one leg over the bathtub.

“That’s fair enough.”

“Did that old geezer give you a lecture?”

    When their gazes met, Erwin only gave a brief, placid smile and swiftly turned his back to Levi. 

“Something like that.”

    He turned the tap on and leaned down to splash cold water over his face. Facing the mirror again, Erwin caught Levi’s smug grin, and couldn’t help his eyes from traveling down Levi’s body as he wiped his calf, wet hair strands fallen over his eyes. The sight felt staged for a painting, his bare body turned to the side, his intimacy hidden in the shadows, one end of the towel held against his tilted chest, the other sliding along his shin, all submerged in the setting sun, a halo of bright light gilding the edges of his silhouette.

 _Some things you have to see._ Every last one of Pixis’ words imbued his mind, like a broken record stuttering the same verse over and over again. His heart rate picked up.

    A sudden hiss snapped Erwin back, and his eyes refocused on Levi’s reflection, now bent down with his clothed hand wrapped around one foot.

“You alright?” He asked, his voice uncomfortably hoarse.

“My feet hurt like a bitch, not gonna lie.”

“Have you been walking all day?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Levi replied as he wrapped the towel around his chiseled hips.

    Erwin nodded, and his eyes dropped to his hand clasped tightly around the edge of the sink. He breathed slowly, but his heart kept hopping up and down, from stomach to throat, its pulse reverberating through his whole body.

    If he was going to take on Pixis advice, then it started now, and his next words left his mouth unprompted.

“Sit down.”

“What?”

    Erwin turned around and took one step towards Levi.

“Sit,” he whispered gently.

    Levi tilted his head, eyes squinted. Then he only shrugged and slumped down to the windowsill. Erwin dived down too, sitting on the tiled floor in front of Levi. His palm was starting to get sweaty, and he rubbed it against his trousers before raising his gaze to Levi’s face, searching for his eyes. Levi wore his arms crossed tight against his bare chest, the scowl of his face stern and wary, one of his eyebrows sitting slightly higher than the other. Erwin flickered a chaste smile and extended his hand close to Levi’s ankles.

“May I?”

    This made Levi’s eyebrows shoot high on his forehead, unveiling pupils nibbling the grey of his irises wide. He looked like he was about to either scoff or kick Erwin’s hand away, but instead, he only raised one leg and reached it outwards. With a feathery brush of his fingers at Levi’s Achilles tendon, Erwin guided the cold foot over his lap and traced down the calloused heel, shrouding it whole with his hand. Levi flinched as soon as Erwin pressed his thumb into the tender flesh of his sole, jerking his leg away with an aborted kick. Slow and uncertain, he lowered his foot again, like a quiet apology for his sharp reflexes.

    Erwin’s eyes flicked away from his task, gently taking Levi’s foot in his hand again, looked up to his backlit expression. His eyelids rested low over his eyes, his gaze hidden behind the slope of his thick eyelashes. But behind all those shadows, Levi was looking at Erwin, the stare piercing and heavy. Erwin kept their eyes locked together as he tried another push into the underside of Levi’s foot, and the quiet gasp he sucked in betrayed Levi’s otherwise still body.

    Erwin’s thumb began drawing circles over the crimpled flesh, gradually wider until the motion covered the whole sole of Levi’s foot, and his toes wiggled slightly at the ticklish touch. The tense qualm of Levi’s leg unwound, its weight sinking into Erwin’s palm, and soon, Levi’s arms untwined and slipped to nestle over his own lap. Erwin took the sign of encouragement and, readjusting his grip, dug the tip of his thumb deep into the coiled muscle. Levi hissed, toes curling, but he didn’t pull back. After a brief pause, Erwin resumed his strokes, kneading Levi’s cold skin tender, the hard knot lodged at his sole melting away slowly until it became but a radiant, mellow warmth.

_Some things you have to feel._

    Slowly – reluctantly – Erwin’s fingers let go and slipped away.

“How do you feel?” he whispered, afraid to break the sacred silence of dusk.

    Levi’s eyelids fluttered, like he’d suddenly been torn back to reality. He sighed once more.

“Not as bad.”

    Erwin nodded with a smile and pivoted slightly to the side, reaching his hand out again.

“Give me your other foot.”

    Levi complied, eagerly dropping his heel inside Erwin’s palm. He set to his task the same way, first easing the kink of Levi’s underfoot with light touches, then pressing hard to untangle the stiff muscle. A forbearing kind silence orchestrated the scene, a slow and humble melody that lightened the air and washed anxious and intrusive thoughts away where Erwin could no longer see them.

“I’ve been reading too, today,” Levi’s raspy murmur skidded over the easy silence.

“How far into it are you?”

“Page eighty or something,” Levi shifted his position, his foot pressing hard against Erwin’s hold. “I’m not sure what’s going on, to be honest. It’s all big words and cryptic sentences.”

    Erwin laughed quietly through his nose. He sat back, trying to find the most comfortable position the hard tiles offered, and forgetting his task, rested his hand over Levi’s foot, his fingers mindlessly grazing around the rounded bone of his ankle.

“Perhaps it is a bit above your reading level for now.”

    Levi tutted, arms flying back in a tangle, heels digging in Erwin’s thighs.

“Alright, smartass.”

    Erwin’s hand wrapped around Levi’s ankle and slowly ascended up his shin – he wasn’t aware of it himself, but the glide of uneven skin studded with black curls tickled his palm lightly, and his hand couldn’t seem to get enough of the sensation.

“I’m just saying that you don’t have to finish it now. There’s nothing like a very tedious read to make you want to give up on reading altogether.”

“I’m finishing it,” Levi insisted stubbornly.

    Erwin remembered when Levi had picked the book from his shelf shortly before they left for the airport. He had darted straight to it with purpose, seized it and tucked it in his bag without a second thought. Erwin had not dared to comment on his choice – _L’Éducation Sentimentale_ by Flaubert – as Levi had seemed so determined that it threw him off. The choice was odd nonetheless; Erwin struggled to fathom why Levi had gone for such a lengthy book about floundering romance. Perhaps Levi had been drawn by the title – and the thought was entertaining – or perhaps the choice hadn’t been deliberate at all and he only picked the first book his hand landed on. Either way, Erwin only recollected bits of the story he’d read decades ago: a desultory quest for love that concluded with no less than what the lack of bravery and dedication of the protagonists deserved; so was the charm and bittersweetness of realistic literature.

    Erwin froze suddenly – only now realising his hand had travelled up to Levi’s knee already – his thoughts stuttering, interrupted by the projection of his own record onto the fictional story, of his and Levi’s shapeless relationship, that, in all aspects, had the grim potential of ending up just as unfulfilling.

    _Some things you have to experience._

“This goddamn story better start making some sense soon though, otherwise I will absolutely–”

    The words died at Erwin’s sudden grasp around Levi’s jaw, as he raised to his knees and leaned forwards with a brazen fervour until his lips met with Levi’s, the press firm yet gentle, infused with both reverence and penitence. Levi jerked back, his whole body jostling as if a shock of electricity just smacked him, yet he reeled back in immediately and crashed his lips hard against Erwin’s, teeth stabbing the tender flesh. His hands seized the collar of Erwin’s shirt, pulling him up, closer, and the next instant, he was pushing him away, the kiss broken.

    Erwin’s eyelids fluttered, his vision coming back to Levi’s scorning features.

“God, you’re indecisive,” Levi hissed, his whistling breath bouncing against Erwin’s mouth.

“Sorry. I was stupid.”

“There’s no need for past tense here.”

    Erwin could only smile and lean back in, drawn by Levi’s magnetic pull, but Levi pressed the heel of his hand against Erwin’s mouth, his features darkening slightly.

“I don’t know what _this_ is all about, but if you’re expecting some kind of romance crap or what, that’s not...”

    He left his sentence hanging, instead looking right at Erwin, something twitching in his grey pupils. Erwin wrapped his hand gently around Levi’s wrist and pulled him away.

“I’m not overly confident about this either,” he confessed in a whisper.

    Levi snorted and the scrunch of his eyebrows was playful again.

“And I thought you were supposed to be the clever one.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I…” His hand waved in the narrow space between them. “I don’t care.” It then came to a rest over his own lap. “Do you?”

    Erwin fell back on his heels slowly. He wanted this, whatever this was, and he wasn’t going to run away again. He’d spent his life doing so, and he was tired. 

    Levi wasn’t the memories of his father Erwin had tried to escape for years and years, nor was he the dreaded ink blots scribbled on torn music sheets, the stone of guilt in his stomach that made him run away _again_ , or the names that swirled in the confines of his mind, the reflection of his own misery glowing into Marie’s teary eyes, the dust that piled up on varnished wood and horsehair. No, Levi was the breach in the prison of his own mind, he was the tidewater that pushed him ashore; he, too, a force that kept breaking in waves, but who, unlike Erwin, knew no resilience. Looking up to this man sat in front of him, all shadows enwreathed in a ring of warm light, Erwin saw aspiration. 

“I don’t think I care either.”

    When Erwin reached up again, Levi let him come and dived in with fire scathing his mouth – lips demanding and teeth hungry. Erwin tumbled at the unexpected fever, anchoring his hand around Levi’s shoulder, and he responded with a humility Levi all but swallowed. Akin to his music playing, Levi's kiss was unknowing yet resolute, all raw fire and blunt candour. His hard teeth and hot tongue conquered Erwin's mouth almost unfairly; the chaos fueled with an urgency that was meant for fighting. Erwin tried to follow the frenzy, but the rhythm lacked harmony, and he was soon gasping for air, managing to tear himself just long enough to call Levi’s name. 

The softness of the sound made Levi’s eyelids flutter, and he leaned back with a frustrated groan. He wiped the wetness at his chin, his laboured breath mingling with Erwin’s.

“What?”

“You’re…” Erwin smiled, pausing to gather the words that wouldn’t make his thoughts sound like a reproach. “You’re a bit eager.”

    Levi’s nose scrunched up, and he sat back, arms crossed in vexation.

“I don’t half-ass things, unlike you.”

    Erwin blurted out an honest chuckle.

“Was it that bad?”

“That’s… that’s not…” Erwin bit his lower lip, sensitive still from Levi’s bites.

“I told you I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” Levi went on in that same sulken tone which strechted Erwin’s lips into a smile.

    Erwin’s fingers slid along Levi’s jaw until the tip of his forefinger grazed over his chapped lips. It was like raw material to be handled with care, demanding patience and devotion. Erwin’s first instinct would tell him to guide Levi on this new path – wasn’t it his job, after all? – but he realised it’d only coerce Levi into his own insipidity. If this, whatever this was, had any chance of blooming, then Erwin would have to accept he had much to learn too. Looking into Levi’s eyes until everything else was blurry around the edges, he thought the idea wasn’t so scary. He trusted Levi – he always had – to map out this new territory side by side with him. He wanted it.

“It’s okay, we can try again,” Erwin whispered against Levi’s mouth. “Come here.”

    His lips skidded over Levi’s, a touch like the caress of a ghost, incorporeal yet submerging. His lungs took in Levi’s stuttered breath, swallowed his hard resistance, and Levi dipped into the embrace, followed the slow tempo despite the racing of their hearts. They shivered together, jolted with the same charged ardour when the tip of their tongues met. Levi’s hands eventually left the stillness of his own lap to claw around the collar of Erwin’s shirt, pulled and pushed in canon with his own erratic breathing. Erwin revelled in it; the cadence of their sealed lips, the song of breathing, the fervour becoming harmony. It was like music he could touch.

    He was drunk on Levi’s taste now. Stretching up his knees, he crawled between his legs, tangled their bodies together, his arm wrapping around Levi’s bare shoulder blades so he could delve deeper into Levi’s mouth and drink in all he had to offer. Levi’s grip over his nape hardened, and when it was not enough, he wrapped his legs around Erwin’s waist, ankles hooked together to pull him closer – always closer. Engulfed in his sweltering warmth, Erwin forgot how to breathe, his head dizzy, his body yielding to repressed desires.

    His eyes pried open when their lips parted just enough for air to seep in between. Levi’s eyelashes fluttered tickles against Erwin’s, unveiling the glossy dark fog of his blown pupils. Erwin licked the wetness at his lips, breath heavy, eyes unable to part with Levi’s, drew him close again until the tip of their noses bumped. 

“Yeah, okay, that was better, I’ll give you that,” Levi mumbled, sulking still.

    Erwin laughed quietly through his nose, his lips already finding Levi’s again, hazy kisses straying to the corners, to Levi’s cheeks and the softly rounded angle of his jaw, settling right underneath where the skin was tender. Levi sighed, his sharp digits racking up Erwin’s stubbly hair and curled around a few blond strands in a desperate clutch. His head dropped to the side, neck stretched in tribute for Erwin’s lips to claim.

    Erwin’s hand roamed across the bare skin of Levi’s back, curved around his ribcage and wandered to the burning field of his chest – the solid muscles peppered with dark fuzz unfamiliar to Erwin’s palm. He found his eagerness to map it out to come naturally – an instinct his dismayed reason couldn’t hope to tame – and he did so with diligence at the tip of his fingers. They nestled in the dip of Levi’s collarbones, and his lips soon followed. Hot breath ruffled the hair at the crown of Erwin’s head as Levi rested his lips there. His legs and hands clenched harder around Erwin, strength coursing through his muscles as his hips bucked up when Erwin nuzzled the sharp outline his shoulder. 

“Shit.” The sound of Levi’s weak wheeze got lost somewhere in Erwin’s mussed hair.

    Erwin backed away slightly, his eyes tipping down for a moment to meet the outlines of Levi’s arousal carving out the soft towel draping his hips, a longing Erwin also felt in the pulse straining against the front of his trousers. He’d indulge them both if it wasn’t for the threads of reluctance clinging to his guts. The feeling wasn’t hindering however, there was no rush to respond to every call of fire just yet.

    He raised his eyes to Levi’s flushed face, and their lips met again instinctively, slow and soft washing out the hunger, fleeting kisses like cooling embers. Levi’s mouth drifted over Erwin’s cheeks, until it fell over the crook of his neck, breathing in Erwin’s skin between nibbling teeth. The heartbeat under Erwin’s palm steadied. His hand moved from the warm cocoon to shroud Levi’s back, where his skin was so cold it smacked Erwin awake.

    He leaned back at once, and for a moment, he could have sworn he felt the long forgotten ghost of his right hand reaching out to shroud Levi's back from the cold.

“You should get dressed,” he started, rubbing wide circles over the planes of Levi’s back. “You’ll catch a cold.”

    Levi hummed against Erwin’s neck, the vibrations fanning out like needles in his every nerve. Slowly, he leaned back and used Erwin’s shoulders as prop when he stood up – his knees buckled slightly, and it made Erwin’s heart jump in his throat one last time.

“Yeah,” Levi uttered with a smug flavour to his voice, “and you take that shower already, you stink.”

    He nudged his hand at Erwin’s chest and hastily withdrew with a silent curse to catch the towel slipping down his waist. He rolled his eyes with a quiet chuckle and walked past Erwin, gathered his clothes and closed the door behind him as he left the room. Erwin remained grounded for a few more minutes, watching the sun’s crescent peek between white summits dyed orange, his brain slow and dumbfounded. Pixis had been right. He’d long forgotten how it was to feel, to want, to succumb. The tips of his fingers found the pulp of his lips, a gentle press that tasted of sunlight, and he wondered when it became so warm.

 

\- - -

  
  


    Sunlight nudged him, its gentle caress colouring the inside of his eyelids pink, demanding to breach in. Erwin fumbled to shroud his face into the linen blanket. It was warm underneath, almost too much so, and Erwin only sank deeper into the mattress, something inviting about the suffocating heat seeping into his sleepy muscles. He sighed with contentment; such lightweight awakening was unusual enough for him to want to savour it. His head rooted in the fluffy pillow infused with sun and sleep, he breathed it in deeply, and something moved to his side, crinkling the blankets softly and making the mattress dip. His heart jumped, only for a couple beats until he remembered he had not gone to bed alone the previous night.

    After Erwin had stepped out of his bath, after they’d dined with their oblivious host, after a lazy evening spent playing music easily – all three of them as if they’ve done it for years – after all that, in the dead of the misty night, he found Levi smoking on the balcony at the end of the guests’ rooms wing, leaned nonchalantly against the railing. He’d joined him, quipped trivialities because suddenly Erwin was too intimidated to manage anything else. Levi indulged him, voice barely louder than the sounds of the night and yawns filling the quietness between drags. He was yawning still after he tossed the stub of his cigarette, yet he stayed there, his shoulder so close to Erwin’s side that he filled the empty space below the end of his stump perfectly.

“You should go to–”

“Yeah,” Levi drawled quietly before another yawn.

    Another minute passed and neither of them had moved. Levi’s heavy-lidded eyes were sweeping the surroundings in foggy motions. There was something sinister looming in his gaze; Erwin couldn’t tell if it was only induced by the night’s glow or not. It made him want to reach out and soothe the darkness away.

“Do you want to–” Erwin started hesitantly.

“Yes.”

    Erwin himself didn’t know what question he meant to ask – if he ever intended on finishing his sentence – but whatever his low voice conducted, it seemed that Levi had found his own answer nonetheless. And when Levi followed Erwin back to his room, he reckoned he didn’t mind Levi’s interpretation. They paced around in muted sounds and both laid down Erwin’s bed, shy still, deliberately teetering at the edge of their respective sides of the spacious mattress. Only when the lights died out did they crawl to one another, eyes locked together until Erwin reached his arm out to shroud Levi’s burning cheek. At Levi’s contented sigh, Erwin rolled over to lay on top of him, propped up on his elbow, and Levi greeted the embrace with greatly unforeseen gentleness. They kissed, slow and quiet, a note of intimacy seldom heard in broad daylight. Shadows over shadows, open mouths licking into one another, Levi’s fingernails scraping Erwin’s clothed spine, Erwin’s teeth dragging along Levi’s jawline – all of it bone-deep, a silent conversation of touch-starved bodies, taking and giving. There was no bite to their embrace, no burning fuel at the tip of their tongues – their swirl like a chaste lullaby – and they fell asleep like this, hearts light and bodies heavy, a slumber so deep Erwin now understood why he woke up with such blithe ease.

    His eyelids fluttered as he leaned into the warmth of Levi’s presence. The blanket slid from his face, and, turning his head, Erwin met Levi’s low-lidded gaze. His eyes were alert already – he must have awoken long before Erwin – but the sleep filled cushions underneath gave them a serene glow. A wide swathe of winter sun smiled on his face, umber and gold bleeding into the deep black of his hair and chasing away the familiar shadows of his features. A sight for Erwin’s sleepy eyes to bask in. 

“Hey.”

“Morning,” Erwin hummed in rasp greeting.

    Everything was still fuzzy around the edges from sleep, and Erwin rolled to the side, away from the blinding light, his face aiming for Levi’s. However, a sharp push at the top of his head redirected his course to Levi’s jaw instead.

“Let’s keep our stinky breath to ourselves,” Levi explained in a grumble.

    Erwin hummed, hardly vexed. The scent of warm sleep lingering in the crook of Levi’s neck was too enthralling, and Erwin breathed it in deeply. Levi’s fingers wove in his hair in a silent encouragement, and Erwin complied, brushing his lips down the tender flesh. Meeting the hem of Levi’s t-shirt, he moved to the other side, tumbling for balance on his stump briefly as he locked his forearm under Levi’s pliant shoulders.

    Levi lazily swung one leg around Erwin’s waist, the bare heel of his foot pressing into his spine and sliding down slowly, smoothing the ridges of Erwin’s posture, tugging him down closer, until Erwin draped him whole. 

    Their limbs kept bumping into one another, into bellies and heads as they tossed and rolled around, following the trail sunlight on the pristine sheets, a silent symphony orchestrated by an easy sleep-coated drowsiness. Levi’s mouth found Erwin’s skin too, marked him with light bites – his ears, his neck, his calloused fingers and the tender flesh of his palm. Their contented sighs filled the room; laughter too, after Levi accidentally punched Erwin in the nose in a not-so-gracious attempt at tossing a pillow that somehow ended up in their way. 

    Eventually, the very same pillow found itself beneath Erwin’s head as he sunk down the mattress, yawning and stretching legs and arm, his feet dangling past the edge of the bed. Levi was sprawled out across the sheets in the largest sunny stripe, his legs in a bridge over Erwin’s hips. Resting his eyes over Levi’s sun-bathing figure, all Erwin could see was the steep slope at each side of Levi’s knees and his rising chest; his head remained hidden somewhere behind the shadows. His fingers drummed over his clothed abdomen, and it reminded Erwin of the swaying tail of a cat bathing in all the sunlight available, bent and twisted to fit perfectly into the warm square.

    Erwin’s hand found the outer shells of Levi’s feet against his own side and rested over them, the sultry heat of his sweaty palm meeting Levi’s cool skin. Levi sighed, his fidgety hand halted and slipped onto the wrinkled sheets. 

    Erwin closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the distant bird chirping and Levi’s steady breathing. He could fall back to sleep there and then, lulled by the slow circles he was drawing over Levi’s ankles. The texture of his skin was as foreign still – rough and hairy – and Erwin longed to learn how to like it. It stirred him awake again, and he looked down Levi’s bare slender legs – he was only wearing a soft cotton pair of shorts – his tongue subcounsciously flicking over his lips. 

    However, his brain was finally awakening too, and with it, rising waves of anxiety. Erwin couldn’t quite remember what about, the flustered voices in his head muffled in a warm veil of comfort. His hand halted, and he swallowed hard to mute them altogether. Only it made them creep back up, this time loud and clear: indulging in such intimacy with another man was but another act of self-destruction to cast-off the last of his sanity in this twisted relationship. All to add another point to his martyr score. Other voices, familiar ones, were chanting about how Erwin didn’t deserve the grace of repentance. Allowing himself to put his burden in the background of his mind would belittle the lives lost over his own mistakes.

    He shook his head, fastening his hold around Levi’s ankle, and when Erwin looked to his right, he found Levi’s face again as he propped himself up on his elbows, curious gaze silently searching Erwin’s. His blood raced. He blinked, warmth spreading from the tips of his fingers to his head, thoughts lost in Levi’s eyes, deep enough to reduce them to white-noise. Instead, he was beginning to hear the song of his own blood. His hand slid up Levi’s shin, who dropped back down with a shiver, head disappearing over the edge of the mattress, arms sprawled out in a cross. Erwin followed the trail left by Levi’s gooseflesh up until his arm couldn’t stretch any more. The leg over which Erwin’s hand rested – the one closer to his reach – wobbled slightly, dipped down to the side in a shy opening. Erwin’s mouth ran dry at the sight it unveiled, a line of sculpted thigh leading straight to the swelling embraced in the fabric of Levi’s shorts.

    Erwin’s eyes widened, and, nibbling down his lower lip sheepishly, he glanced up to Levi, whose head was still thrown back. His leg sank lower until it laid bent over the mattress, a clear invitation Erwin could either take or decline. Erwin’s hand rounded the curve of his knee, drew circles over the sensitive skin that made Levi’s muscles twitch. He dared another look up the pale thigh, and the front of Levi’s shorts were now stretched out by obvious desire. The reality of it made Erwin hot and hungry, and he could no longer hold himself back. Propping himself up on the tip of his stump, he readjusted his position, twisting his spine to broaden his reach.

    His fingers ran up the inside of Levi’s thigh, sailing slowly across the river of his muscles. Levi squirmed, a low sigh caving in between his ribs, and a suppressed hiss sang all the way to Erwin’s ears when his fingers reached the loose hem of the cloth. They lingered there, tracing the border from side to side, rolling the thin skin under the pads of his digits; Erwin hoped to cut off the last strings of doubt holding him back. It was intimidating to let go of all he thought held him together, but the longing to give in to this carnal call made it thrilling rather than tetanising.

    He squeezed the plump of Levi’s inner thigh gently, smoothed the edges of his shorts, and his fingers glided above the fabric, shyly hovering the radiating heat of Levi’s arousal. Levi sucked in an expecting breath, and Erwin dived in. The heel of his hand made contact first, followed by the stream of his fingers enveloping the outlines of Levi’s hard cock like a silken veil.

“ _Fuck_!” Levi’s body jostled up – hips, spine, head – tensing up only for a moment before bouncing back down, ever so yielding.

    It was the only word he uttered before his suddenly laboured breath took over. Erwin held his own until his lungs prickled, and in a long exhale, his fingers sparked to life, slow yet steadfast. Levi stirred again, his fingers curling and uncurling around the sheets, his knuckles getting whiter and whiter as Erwin’s touches grew more assured. He didn’t know where to set his eyes, whether the hard rise and fall of Levi’s chest, the tremor in his legs peppering goosebumps every so often, the sluggish sway of a naked tree-branch’s shadow dancing over the ripples of Levi’s t-shirt, the unsteady pace of his own hand rubbing over the soaked up fabric.

    Ignoring his own desire became difficult. Erwin’s legs shifted as he tried to alleviate the pressure in his thin pyjama trousers. It wasn’t enough by any means, but it’d do for now. Feeling Levi’s tough skin falling apart in such quiet compliance was something he wanted to catch, to hold and cherish – the vulnerability Levi kept on giving so effortlessly set Erwin’s blood on fire.

    He traced up Levi’s length one last time before his fingers found the knotted cords at the waistband and pulled them apart. Levi’s hips surged up, and, hooking his fingers under the fabric, Erwin tugged it down without ceremony. Levi’s flushed cock peeked out, and Erwin could only watch, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar, the rosy red striking against milky white. A sight that, in a silly way, he’d not anticipated. Despite the stubborn recurrence of his mind’s heated fantasies, it’d always been careful to depict Levi’s anatomy oh so wrongly.

    His eyes flicked further back when Levi lifted his head up with effort, dark and foggy eyes searching for Erwin’s. His face, basked in silver light, glowed with ravenous fever. Plea hung silent in the red, teeth-shaped intends on his swollen lips – for all the noises he’d been swallowing down – and Erwin would indulge him keenly. The yearning to give Levi more of what softened his hard features into such velvet ached deep between Erwin’s own legs, and he hastened to reach out again. His hindrance, Erwin hustled it away and his hand bound around Levi’s sultry heat vehemently – skin on skin.

    Levi recoiled back, crashed against the mattress, a whine muffled inside his balled fist. It only took a few strokes for him to thrash in the sheets – legs kicking and toes clawed – and a couple more for him to pull up the hem of his t-shirt hastily as his hips soared up; the peak of his rapture tumbling down in tides of pearly white.

    He slumped back deep into the springy mattress like a dead weight. Erwin’s fingers followed his descent and withdrew slowly, a faint wet trail tracing down Levi’s thigh. Whilst Levi recovered his breath, face hidden inside his hands, Erwin’s wasn’t showing any sign of steadying. His eyes were stuck to the softening weight between Levi’s legs and the white pooling in the crevices of his straining abdominal muscles. 

    He shifted his hips, bent his knees – anything to shun the demanding pulse in his groin. He sighed, focusing on the feeling of his lungs deflating. It barely helped. He tore his eyes away and they fell on his hand instead, where the proof of what he’d just done glowed proudly. He blinked twice, licking his dry lips, and took his hand away with the intention of wiping it all somewhere onto the sheets.

“Don’t do that. That’s really gross,” Levi grunted huskily.

“Sorry.”

    Levi rolled his eyes and extended his arms behind his head – elongating his supple body almost sinfully – to fumble with something on the ground. He lifted himself back up by the mere strength of his core, sitting up, looking like he’d just woken up from a nap in the sun – hair tousled, eyes swollen and squinted, cheeks red – something about it all that made him seem disoriented. Erwin’s heart started again.

“Take this,” Levi prompted, tossing a checkered handkerchief over Erwin’s soiled hand. 

    Blinking his aching discomfort away, he swiftly wiped the back of his hand against the fabric. Levi bent over, and with a reprimanding grumble, finished Erwin’s slack job. He then passed the handkerchief over his own stomach and flipped the waistband of his shorts back over his hips. He put the soaked up rag away and thoroughly stretched his every articulation. Behind the feigned indifference Levi sported, Erwin could feel the pressing weight of his gaze over his swollen crotch. He cleared his throat and quickly sat at the edge of the bed before Levi acted forth. It wasn’t that he didn’t want this – God knew how much his arousal strained – but he wasn’t quite ready to deal with the aftermath of submitting himself to such indulgence. His afflicted mind wouldn’t forgive him if he did.

    He escaped Levi’s inquisitive gaze by facing the windows, forcing his heart rate to follow the mellow dancing of the tree branches outside. Levi, always so understanding of Erwin’s every wordless thought, only gave Erwin’s shoulder a light squeeze, rested his forehead there for a moment before he leaped out of bed. Erwin’s eyes wandered for a little longer until the bright square of the window burnt his eyes, as if the persisting winter made them forget what sunlight felt like. He’d missed the sun.

“What do you say we hang around in town for a bit before heading to the airport?” Erwin asked raspily, turning around to find Levi in a corner of the room, clothes hung around his arms.

    He shrugged. 

“Alright. I’ll need a shower first.”

“It’s still early, there’s no rush. I’ll be downstairs getting breakfast ready.”

    Levi nodded, and they both exited the bedroom, leaving the echo of their wantonness for the sunlight trapped within the room to enfold behind closed doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags/warnings:  
> \- Sexual content


End file.
